Imperfect
by criminalsenzuri
Summary: Mayuri's life is abruptly torn to pieces when someone surfaces from his past with one goal: to torture him. KisukeXMayuri, UkitakeXMayuri WIP, yaoi, rape, more warnings inside.
1. Chapter 1

**WARNING (PLEASE READ!)**: This warning is not chapter specific but each chapter's probably going to contain some of the following. On top of being a sexually graphic yaoi, there is rape, torture, verbal and physical abuse, self-harm, eating disorders (anorexia) and just a lot of generally bad stuff in here. If you're sensitive to any of these things, please don't read this. Otherwise, enjoy! Also, this story takes places just before the events of Bleach. 

Mayuri Kurotsuchi was a person whose existence and philosophy orbited around one word. Imperfect. If something were to be perfect, it would have to be an absolute proof with not only an equation to back it up but physical evidence as well. Physical evidence, however, was always reduced to the beholder's perception. As clever as even a Shinigami Captain may be, the infinitesimally small building blocks of life still squiggled erratically around the more they were analyzed, becoming fickle mysteries when their privacy was invaded. Mayuri loved this nonsense of reality and basked in the tenuous uncertainty that he was made of nothing but question marks.

Every Shinigami, even Zaraki, had a past that solidified into something coherent enough to grasp. But Mayuri, even through the capacity of his genius mind, had no idea where or who he'd been before the Maggot's Nest. Time was unrelenting in the world of the dead. When the first fifty years had slid him by, he'd been counting by the seconds. Whoever he'd been before was completely lost by insanity and it was impossible to miss a forgotten memory.

The first thing he really remembered was being something both outwardly and inwardly vicious. He'd cut off his own ears and made better ones. His face had become something so absolutely personal that he'd made it go away to anyone who dared to look. He'd been sequestered to a cell because blood and ash made a good mask. All he knew was that the cruel certainty of his jailers and their control over him had made him this way.

The past was a very stupid thing to focus on but in his current situation, he was forced to at least _try_ to remember whatever had brought him into this conundrum. He was as near death as a Shinigami could possibly be outside of a battle and the smells and sounds around him were of the Fourth Division. Lavender and other herbs overpowered the strong reek of antiseptic that betrayed his own, more sinister Division. Even though his body hung in a web of uncertainty, Retsu Unohana's presence was inevitable.

"Captain Kurotsuchi," she said. "You're here because you're starving to death and there is severe trauma to your skull. There are several other wounds that seem to pertain to something I could only describe as sexual. Captain Yamamoto knows of your condition and once you're healed, you have a lot of explaining to do. Being a Captain isn't a joke, it's a huge responsibility… of all Shinigami, I thought you knew that more than anyone else."

_It would be almost impossible for any Shinigami to starve to death,_ thought Mayuri. _Although we do need to eat, just water will certainly keep us alive._ That was a scientific fact and as a Captain, he had food and water to spare. The physical trauma sounded even more ludicrous. He could heal himself with an efficiency that terrified even Yamamoto. The rest of what that fox faced bitch had said was utter nonsense; he chose to ignore it as information. A sexual injury? Was this woman neurotic as well as stupid? He imagined himself sticking his tongue out and flipping her off but reality was too broken up. He felt as though he was falling yet weightless and unbidden memories gripped at him like lurking, unrelenting monsters.

X X X

"I love you," said a pathetic, emaciated creature. Tears were cutting down its mask and there was an imposing, impossibly large figure looming over it. Mayuri had no idea what this memory was. Why did it feel so new to him? Kisuke Urahara was someone he'd forgotten all that time ago. He'd vanished from Soul Society all those years ago and that was all Mayuri told himself he knew.

"You're not thin enough," said Kisuke. "Are you too daft to know that I just want you to disappear?"

Mayuri was far from normal and his body accommodated sex from many, many modifications. He was riding Kisuke's cock and his tight ass only hurt in a good way. His throat felt like it had been similarly abused but the nerves had long been severed. Amidst the waves of pleasure, Mayuri did feel rather light. He'd always been thin. There were female Shinigami who weighed more than him! But there was something that weighed more than anything and it was his utter, undying devotion for Kisuke.

"Why?" he managed to ask, grasping his cock and trying not to cum first.

"Because I _hate_ you."

In the present, wrapped in the impersonal warmth of the Fourth, Mayuri bit the pillow under his head and cried as silently as he could.

X X X

As one of the more experienced Captains, Jūshirō Ukitake felt it was his responsibility to occasionally help with the Fourth Division. Healers were the most important part of an army and to ignore or berate them was not only impractical but rude. He even sent over his own squadron on a regular basis to help with their tasks. Tonight however, his benevolent demeanor was threatening to slip as he hurried to a very specific room in the sick bay.

He _despised_ Captain Kurotsuchi. However, the man's mere presence let alone his injuries were outrageous enough to warrant summoning Ukitake with a Hell Butterfly. Even Unohana couldn't handle this hysterical maniac! Well, it was his duty to protect and to serve, right? He envied other Captains whose jobs were more obtuse. Even Shunsui, his best friend, would shrug at this level of responsibility. Absolutely no one liked Mayuri; they just tolerated his brilliance. He was crucial to the Gotei 13 but brushed under the rug like a dirty secret all the same. If he someday wound up to be a villain, it wouldn't surprise a soul.

Ukitake knew he was getting close to his destination when he finally encountered Retsu, her face frozen in that placid grin she managed to wear. She gave a nod toward the room in question, gave a particularly deep bow, then brushed by him. She had plenty of other sick people to attend to and Mayuri was ruining it all, her bow said. Ukitake forced his own attitude to be polite as he braced himself, opening the door and wishing it led to anywhere else.

Mayuri was turned away from him, curled up on the cot, clenching a pillow. If it weren't for the devices that replaced his ears, Ukitake never would've guessed his identity. The scientist looked very young and his skin, somehow, was tan. It was unreasonably shocking to see that he was just a person. It was a joke around the Gotei that maybe he always looked like a painted monster, that the black and white he wore was permanent along with the mask. This was someone whose body – clothed by a sheet that hid only his lower half - had many traversing scars but looked more vulnerable than any Captain he'd bared witness to. He had exotic hair, a thick blue mohawk that clung in damp rivulets down his neck, and his form was even slighter than what his comrades had guessed in their gossip.

"Which insufferable idiot is it now?" came Mayuri's muffled voice from the pillow. "I may be weak at the moment but I am more than capable of killing you." A spike of reiatsu accompanied the words, stronger than sin itself. Ukitake noticed that Ashisogi Jizō, the most nefarious of Zanpakutō, was also in the room, resting against a night stand. If Mayuri had a fit of pique, he could poison the entire Fourth Division before anyone could stop him. Why hadn't Retsu taken it away? Probably because of this same very conundrum.

Ukitake decided on a combination of caution and compassion. He quickly chanted to seal the room, shutting out any poison or argument that could leak outside.

"Captain Kurotsuchi," he greeted with stiff formality. "I'm here to see if I can attend to your injuries."

A very uncomfortable eternity seemed to pass until Mayuri finally sat up and showed his face. He'd been crying and Ukitake never would've assumed that those gold eyes could possibly look doe-like. The injuries he'd sustained became very immediately obvious, ranging from bruises to bitemarks to a split on his lip. He grinned but it was mirthless.

"You're seeing me naked, Jūshirō," he laughed. "You've also sealed us in a room together. Are you trying to fuck me? I am capable of satisfying you if you'll just go away when you're done."

Ukitake was a very pale man and when he blushed, it was all too obvious. He was no stranger to casual sex – with both men and women – but to hear an invitation from this man? Right now? It was so out of place he just opened his mouth for a second then shut it. The idea was ludicrous. "I'm not here for that," he finally managed to say. "Do you have a fever? There are several remedies I can provide you." There wasn't a single place to sit in the room, just Mayuri's cot, so he crossed his arms and shifted nervously on his feet.

"I can give you what's become of my throat," said Mayuri. "If I start to die from air loss, just stab me with Ashisogi Jizō and I'll become slime for a while. Perhaps I'll ooze back to my own Division."

"Mayuri-"

"Just do it. I know you're not prudish. Your exploits are notorious."

Ukitake sat down on the bed. He was here to heal, not to harm, but this bastard was offering up something no one ever wanted to do – suck his cock. He had such a big dick it was hard to fit it anywhere, let alone a throat. When Mayuri enticingly licked his lips, letting his pink tongue show, it was enough motivation to make him loosen the waist of his pants. "Alright," he said. "I don't understand why you'd want to but alright."

It was around sunset and the room had no lights on so Mayuri's body was slightly less upsetting when he took the blanket off and knelt. The man's ribs were plainly visible and his stomach looked like a gap. There were even more bruises and bites on his thighs, some of them bad enough to have broken skin. If Ukitake was a better person he would have called it off right then and there. Instead, he did the opposite and pulled out his cock, almost impatient to see how deep that throat could go.

X X X

"Hey, idiot." Kisuke's voice was nothing new and all Mayuri could do was nod. He knew he was an idiot; why else would he be in the Maggot's Nest? He was tired from putting in his new ears and had bled a lot in the process.

"Remember your ears? Remember, after you cut them off, that I helped you create a device out of _gold_ to replace them? Remember that you offered anything in return?"

Mayuri nodded again. He just wanted the sound of Kisuke's voice to go away because everything was too loud now.

Kisuke sauntered into the cell and flicked out a scalpel. "I'm going to modify your throat," he said. "And I'm not going to sedate you… that would be another waste of money."

X X X

To say that Mayuri was the best head Ukitake had ever received was an understatement. He felt utterly evil as he watched those lips sink lower and lower until his cock was jammed obscenely far into the man's throat – he could actually see its bulge distorting the thin neck. At some point he also swore he'd heard the distinct click of jaws unhinging to further accommodate his girth. His hips starting rocking slightly, accepting the surreal ecstasy that was befalling him, until Mayuri pulled away his mouth and gave him a wild, exasperated glare.

"Deeper." Mayuri's hands grabbed Ukitake's and guided them to his shock of blue hair. "It's impossible to make me gag. And don't feign kindness; it'll make you look even _more_ stupid."

It was a little bit too easy as Ukitake granted Mayuri his wish, knotting the man's hair into his fists and fucking his throat without any consideration for life. When he looked down, close to cumming, Mayuri's eyes were drifted shut and a bluish pallor had reached his abused lips. Before guilt could even happen, the younger man grabbed his own cock and orgasmed; Ukitake followed closely, spilling his seed so deep it must've gone straight into his stomach.

The was a pause where he was so buzzed from the orgasm, he stroked Mayuri's hair and imagined they were starstruck lovers. However, the man's sudden, spasmodic gasps for air dispelled any sentimentality and the golden eyes, when they snapped open, were wet.

"We're done now," Mayuri rasped. "Why aren't you leaving?"

Ukitake was oddly taken aback. "I can't stay for a few more minutes with you?" he asked.

Mayuri's eyes became wetter and he hunched in upon himself, his mouth forming a half grinning snarl around his teeth. There was an old, pale scar across his nose that accentuated his expression and another that made a frowning crescent around his chin. There was a particularly obscene one that ran a vertical line over the side of his neck. None of his scars looked accidental; Ukitake wondered what modified horrors were compacted beneath. He'd seen the arm capability once. That was more than enough to elicit terror. It reminded him, sharply, that this wreck of a man was a Captain whose prowess in battle possibly exceeded his own. He wanted to console, to understand, but Mayuri's snarl only became more severe with every passing second.

"You are supposed to be gone," the scientist hissed, not moving his head away from the massage it was receiving but spiking his reiatsu hard enough to knock the wind out of Ukitake's lungs. "Flash step away before I turn you into a corpse."

Ukitake obeyed. He had no idea what else to do.

X X X

"How is your throat feeling?" Kisuke had been away for weeks and they were trying to play a game of Shogi through the cell's bars. Mayuri managed to shrug and grin as Kisuke moved a game piece. The jailer always won but Mayuri, several steps forward in his mind, feigned defeat each time. Pretending to be dumber than the egotistical blonde was fun, he supposed.

"What do you mean about my throat?" he asked. Some other jailers had used him as target practice hours earlier and there were arrows pierced through his body, barely missing vital points, so whatever had happened to his throat seemed absolutely irrelevant. If it wasn't for the leash on his reiatsu, he would've healed himself and left a bloody mist where the offenders had stood. As it was however, he'd had to sit there and take it like a pin cushion. Kisuke knew that no matter how smart Mayuri was, he'd eventually succumb to blood loss so this game had been going for a very long time just for that reason.

Mayuri laughed and blood poured out of his mouth, splattering over his already crusted and saturated garb like the color red was a fashion. Kisuke, amused, smiled. The game didn't matter at all if he'd been holding the upper hand from the start. The helpless bastard coughed up more blood, staggered back a step from his stool, then finally collapsed onto the floor. Kisuke waited until he was absolutely sure of the other man's unconsciousness before entering the cell this time; in the depths of Mayuri's most recent insanity, a jailer had perished simply from getting too close to the cell. Something akin to cannibalism had taken place, leaving a very interesting corpse, and Mayuri's feigned ignorance of the matter had given Kisuke's coworkers more than enough reason to retaliate. Hence the arrows.

This abomination of a soul was just an experiment, something Kisuke could test theories on without having to explain himself to Yamamoto. He was stronger and smarter than his jailer coworkers; he was a Captain with a Division created solely for him. For anyone to spy upon let alone question his motives in here was a punishable offense. The snoring thing before him was a pet project and that was literally why it was a secret. He wanted to make people into pets. And yes, it was a sexual perversion. Someday he wanted to have a menagerie of beautiful women, altered to perfection and programmed to desire nothing but his attentions. Even though it was a pipe dream, working on various alterations made him feel like he was inching the plan along to a possible reality. In the meantime, he had to play the nice guy around his comrades and hide his sinister side within a locked box. He leaned over and examined the throat modification; his work was flawless. A woman wouldn't be able to gag even if she wanted to once this was performed on her. He pondered what modification he'd try next but Mayuri was too close to death to carry out the thought. For now, sanitation and healing reiatsu were imperative. He lifted the body then carried it to the showers, annoyed that he couldn't remove the heavy, iron shackles from the poor fucker's wrists and ankles. The ball and chain he always had to drag behind him especially seemed like overkill… but its enchantment that culled reiatsu was important, to say the least. When he finally reached a shower stall and dumped Mayuri into it, he knew he'd strained a muscle or two from the exertion. His back protested sorely as he knelt before the unconscious figure and unceremoniously began to strip it bare, removing all the arrows in the process. There was so much blood and paint everywhere that he didn't even know what the fuck he was looking at once he was done. That's what water was for though; he turned on the spigot, giving zero shits what the temperature was, then left the stall and let the shower do its work.

After about fifteen minutes, he returned to the stall, hoping it had been enough time to cleanse away most of the filth. Once again, he had no idea what he was looking at. A young, innocently pretty man was curled up by the drain, his smooth skin a few shades darker than Kisuke's own as if he'd somehow been getting a suntan under all that paint. There was none of the ugliness Kisuke had been expecting, no malformity to hide. Why all the paint, then? Did he wear it to make himself look less vulnerable? Kisuke had always just assumed it had been the exact opposite - a psychopathic attempt at vanity. He turned off the water, which was almost hot enough to scald, and sat Mayuri up against one of the stall's walls to make the healing process easier. Within a few minutes, the arrow wounds were closed and death was no longer immanent. Kisuke sat back and further analyzed the body before him, realizing he was actually quite intrigued. Mayuri's face, while not classically handsome, was pleasing to the eye with its sharp yet refined features. His lips were thin but still managed to offer up a pout now that they weren't pulled back into that nasty grin. It was a face that would definitely garner the attention of both genders and probably had in some forgotten past. The body was equally alluring – while Mayuri was not brutishly strong by any means, his thin frame was lithely muscled. Kisuke knew the man exercised as much as his small cell would allow and it definitely showed. He didn't have the spindly limbs and saggy midsection that many other prisoners sported who'd simply given up on living, rather he had the look of a gymnast or even a dancer. Graceful was the best word for it.

Also interesting was his hair – Kisuke didn't know why he was surprised to see that even Mayuri's pubic hair was blue. That the man could've possibly acquired blue dye made even less sense than it being his natural color. Other than the patch of pubes, Mayuri was hairless save for a cute little treasure trail that barely made itself known from his navel downward. _Cute? Why do I think it's cute?!_ Kisuke thought, so embarrassed he felt a wave of heat hit his face. _He has a big cock too,_ his brain just had to add. _And a nice ass._

Kisuke shook his head, fighting the urge to slap the fuck out of himself. He was so repulsed by his attraction to the same sex that he'd convinced himself it was just misplaced lust for women. Bisexuality was a word that tasted bad just thinking about it – he'd been taught growing up that gay men were flamboyant, driveling weaklings and the lesson had stuck like glue. He loved women, he _really_ loved women, and the possibility that he could ever feel that way about a man was too abhorrent to bear. However, here that feeling was, pointing at him and laughing, saying _I told you so!_ Suddenly his interest in Mayuri curdled into a deep, ugly loathing. This was never a part of the plan! Kisuke wanted to scream, to tear his own hair out, to make this experiment blink from existence and forget it had ever happened. Instead, he closed his eyes and tried to force some semblance of inner calm. This was most definitely a mistake… but it was a _secret_ mistake. Kisuke's hand twitched at his side. No matter what he did, no one would ever find out. Maybe it was time to set this matter of bisexuality to rest, once and for all.

For some reason, his hands went for Mayuri's inner thighs first, hungrily groping the soft skin. They felt silky smooth and unmarred, almost like no one had ever touched them before. He then decided he wanted to bite them, hard. When he did, he almost expected Mayuri to cry out but the man was still completely unconscious, even when his teeth broke skin. Once satisfied with his ministrations, Kisuke sat up and surveyed the damage. Now Mayuri looked more suited for his role, like a branded piece of property. A bolt of lust shot down Kisuke's spine and his cock practically jumped to full attention – he wrestled it out of his pants and stroked it a few times, moaning a curse between clenched teeth. He'd coaxed a few women into anal sex before so he was no stranger to it; he knew it fucking hurt if you just went straight to it without stretching. But this was different. Even if Mayuri did wake up and began to scream bloody murder, no one would hear him. So Kisuke spit on his cock, spread the man's thighs, and plowed in his entire length with one heavy thrust. Mayuri was impossibly tight and warm around his girth, enough so that using any form of self-control flew right out the window and he found himself unable to pause even for a second, stabbing relentlessly with each quickening thrust. His hands had a death grip on the man's narrow hips, holding them so tightly he knew they would bruise.

"What's…" It took Kisuke a second to register that the word had come from Mayuri's lips. "What's _happening_?" He looked up to find Mayuri awake and dumb with shock, his gold eyes open so wide they looked like two big saucers. A flicker of horrified recognition paled the man's face when Kisuke grinned malignantly and pumped his hips again. Before Mayuri could even think of screaming, Kisuke clamped a hand over his mouth, slamming his head firmly against the wall behind it.

"I'm _raping_ you, idiot," he snarled. "Isn't that obvious?"

Mayuri's entire body became rigid and his eyes somehow widened even more.

"You can struggle if you want but you're far too weak to put a scratch on me," Kisuke continued in a low voice. "You can also scream but I assure you, no one is going to hear you. Nothing you do is going to make a damn bit of difference – but if you annoy me too much, I'll fucking _castrate_ you. Understand?" When he pulled his hand away, Mayuri looked like he was contemplating every possible outcome of his current predicament. Finally the man drew in a shaky, defeated breath, slammed his eyelids closed, and bit down fiercely on his own lip. Kisuke chuckled darkly and started where he'd left off, noticing with an odd sort of respect that no matter how hard he thrusted, Mayuri didn't utter a single sound – he just bit down deeper on his lip, which eventually began to bleed.

It wasn't until Kisuke was close to cumming that he noticed Mayuri's cock had become erect. The scientist's part of his brain reminded him that the prostate, if stimulated enough, could cause a man to orgasm whether or not he wanted to. This had been an awkward, occasional outcome of prostate exams since they were first invented and obviously, it was the only reason Mayuri was in his current state. The rest of the man's body was practically radiating horror and shame. Kisuke was overcome with sinister glee; he'd honestly forgotten about this little fact. Determined to see it through, he grabbed Mayuri's cock and started to roughly jerk it off in rhythm with his thrusts. The man's agonized expression deepened to despair in response and his hands flexed desperately in their cuffs.

"Why are you even ashamed?" taunted Kisuke. "You have no honor to defend, nothing at all." He quickened his pace until they were both right on the edge then leaned in and hungrily licked the crook of the man's neck. "Cum for me," he rasped. "Become my _pet_." They came simultaneously, Mayuri finally uttering a muffled moan as he spilled his seed into Kisuke's hand while the blonde bit down hard on the neck before him to stifle his own cries, rocking his hips until he was drained. It took a while before he could even move. When he pulled out and slowly stood up, he noticed that Mayuri had started to cry – quiet, gasping sobs that wracked his thin frame. It made Urahara feel an unwanted scrap of guilt.

"Kisuke," Mayuri whispered between sobs, "do me one favor – just one tiny _fucking_ favor – and get me my paint."

X X X

Mayuri groaned and rubbed his throbbing temples. After shooing away Ukitake, he'd been sitting on the floor, not even bothering to stand up from where he'd just sucked cock. The only productive thing he'd done was clean his own cum off his hands with his tongue. But sitting here naked was still pretty stupid – it wouldn't take a genius to guess that he'd been doing something debaucherous beforehand. He was utterly exhausted though, both physically and mentally. Being raped by Kisuke that first time was quite possibly his worst memory. Without any knowledge remaining of his life before the Maggot's Nest, it was as though Kisuke had taken away his virginity. It was extremely painful to think about but in its exhaustion, his brain seemed to be leaking out bad things left and right. It also seemed to be making him act like an insane slut; he still couldn't believe Ukitake had actually said yes to his offer. Who in their right mind would accept a blowjob from a wounded, hysterical maniac? He supposed it was curiosity – and the fact that no other person could've possibly ever deepthroated that man's enormous cock. It wasn't often Mayuri had to unhinge his jaw.

"Alright, time to get out of here," he muttered aloud. Once he was in his own Division, he could treat himself properly and finally sort out his mind. He slowly rose to his feet, staggering a bit in the process. He was so weak, his head was spinning by the time he was standing up straight. His plan had been to clothe himself and walk out but now he realized that his only hope was to stab himself with Ashisogi Jizō and slime his way home. He'd only been half serious to Jūshirō about doing it earlier… he hadn't thought he was really doing _that_ bad! When he spotted his Zanpakutō, his heart sank in his chest. It was all the way on the other side of his cot, resting against a nightstand. That meant he'd have to walk several steps without fainting. _You've been far worse off, _he reprimanded himself, embarrassed. _You're a Captain, not a toddler!_

He made it three whole steps before his vision tunneled and was halfway through a fourth when he collapsed, his body completely missing the cot and slamming gracelessly onto the floor. 

*AUTHOR'S NOTE* Well, I posted the warning for a reason. This story's been banging around in my head for years, finally decided I have to get it out of my system. I hope my many, many breaks in perspective aren't too intolerable… not sure how else I'd go about it. Also I'm sorry for making Kisuke into such a horrible fucking person, I don't really even have a strong opinion about his canon character. I don't like his hat, idk.


	2. Chapter 2

Mayuri's sharp intelligence, while his greatest asset, was also occasionally his bane. When Kisuke continued to coerce him for sex in the Maggots Nest on top of performing his various small surgeries, he knew exactly the toll it was taking on his mind. At first, he went through some very common methods of coping – denial, anger, even guilt. None of the coping mechanisms worked for shit though, of course. Kisuke kept raping him regardless of how he felt about it. Finally, after an interminable amount of time, his mind reached a mournful acceptance of the reality he was in and it was the toughest phase of all. Accepting the fact that he was trapped in such a horrible situation and utterly powerless to change it felt like being slowly drowned. There was only one way out – death – and he wasn't even able to do that. Being allowed no sharp objects or even enough cloth with which to hang himself, the only thing he could do was refuse water until he died of starvation. It took way too long though; Kisuke caught onto his ploy very early on and simply subdued him enough to give him an I.V. drip of saline solution until he was hydrated. So there was literally no exit he could take.

His mind then descended into hellish territory. He began to notice symptoms of Stockholm Syndrome – a small spike of dopamine associated with the thought of Kisuke, a wretched desire for the man's next visit. It started becoming far too easy for him to achieve orgasm during their couplings; sometimes he got an erection before they even made physical contact. Of course, Kisuke also knew exactly what was going on and did nothing to stem its course. The blonde was going through his own mental gauntlet, specifically trying to manage the fact that he was horny for a member of the same sex, and exacerbating the other man's misery felt therapeutic. He sincerely hoped Mayuri had been straighter than an arrow in the past, just because it made everything even crueler. Meanwhile, Mayuri could do nothing but curse his own intelligence for picking apart and identifying his syndrome. He envied idiots in similar situations who simply thought they were falling in love.

During one visit, everything was going as it usually did. Kisuke was playing Shogi with him through the bars, fooling around before he finally got down to doing what he was really here for, and Mayuri was scowling malignantly at the pinprick warmth already shivering down his spine. _Why must you draw it out? _He seethed inwardly. _Just get it the fuck over with!_ He was so flustered, he didn't even notice Kisuke had pulled out a document until it was practically waved in front of his face.

"I have good news for you," said the blonde. "You've been released."

Mayuri blinked a few times then frowned. "Released from what?" he asked suspiciously.

"From the Maggot's Nest, fool," Kisuke answered dryly. "You're a free man."

Mayuri was afraid he'd fall off his stool and faint, then wake up to find that it had all been a dream. He clutched the cell's bars for stability and took a few deep breaths in an attempt to slow his rapidly increasing heartrate. "You're full of shit," he snarled. "I'm not falling for your mind tricks… aren't I pathetic enough for you already?"

Kisuke sighed and rolled his eyes. "Read the damn document," he said. When Mayuri reached for it, he held it just out of arm's reach. "I said _read_ it, not take it."

"Fine," Mayuri muttered. He leaned forward so his face was pressed against the bars and began to read:

Upon signing this document, Mayuri Kurotsuchi hereby is released from the Maggot's Nest under the conditions that he does as follows. He is to serve under Captain Kisuke Urahara as his Third Seat; failure to meet the Captain's expectations will immediately return him to the Maggot's Nest without possibility of release. He is to behave in a manner suited for society; any aberration from this manner will be reported and reviewed, whereupon he may be returned to the Maggot's Nest without possibility of release. As Captain Kisuke Urahara has vouched for his capabilities, he will skip attending the Shinigami Academy and instead be given a test of his abilities in two weeks' time, whereupon he will receive a Zanpakutō and official Shinigami status if he passes. If he fails, however, he will be returned to the Maggot's Nest without possibility of release. All of his activities shall be closely monitored and reported until the day potentially occurs when such monitoring is no longer deemed necessary. However, Captain Yamamoto and any First Captain thereafter forever holds the authority to return him to the Maggot's Nest based solely upon his or her judgement.

Signed,

X

Mayuri ran a hand through his hair. The document was genuine; Captain Yamamoto's seal and signature adorned the bottom. Did Urahara think that all the stipulations would deter him even for a second? If freedom meant constantly bowing and jumping through hoops, he would do it with a smile on his face! Anything, _anything_ was better than this godforsaken cell! "Give me a pen," he demanded. "I obviously consent."

Kisuke withdrew a pen from his haori but merely waggled it in his fingers, a grin spreading across his face. "You obviously didn't read the form properly," he teased, "or you'd be showing a little more hesitation."

Mayuri felt like his head was going to explode. Of _course_ Kisuke wasn't going to just let him sign the damn thing, of _course_ he was going to make this as torturous as he possibly could! "Are you suggesting that I somehow have forgotten how to read?" he asked, barely able to keep himself from screaming. "I understood it _fully_."

"Then you also understood that it means you're going to be my slave for the rest of your fucking life," Kisuke purred. "That part about meeting my expectations extends beyond your professional duties. What we've been doing in here," he gestured casually around him, "we're going to be doing out there. A lot. Whenever I want. And you're going to be more than compliant if you want to stay out of this cell."

Mayuri banged his head against the cell's bars one solid time and let out a bark of laughter. _Of course,_ he repeated to himself. _Of course, of course, of course! _"Well, you leave me little choice," he chuckled. "Should I be flattered? I mean honestly… you talk about all these beautiful women out there and you still want to fuck _me_? Why? Is it because you're in the closet?" He snapped his mouth shut so quickly he nearly bit his tongue off when Kisuke calmly took the document in both hands and began to tear it.

"Keep talking if you want to stay here forever," the blonde said flatly. Met with the hysterical, panicked expression on Mayuri's face, he set the document in his lap. "If I ever hear one more cynical or argumentative word from you, you can kiss your limited freedom goodbye. Is that clear?"

"Yes," Mayuri grated through clenched teeth. He couldn't believe Kisuke was too pompous to even allow a damn argument. How unbearable!

"And one more small thing," added Kisuke as he rose to his feet, neatly tucking the document and pen into the folds of his haori. "Before I release you, I need proof of your compliance." He unlocked the cell door and led Mayuri out, down the hallway and to an empty isolation chamber. This room was where Kisuke always raped him, as it was nearly soundproof. However, they didn't make their usual stop to the showers to wash off his paint. Kisuke _hated_ his paint. Why leave it on this time? He felt an unwanted pang of dread as the blonde shut the door softly behind them. The only light in this room came from a hole in the ceiling; even midday as it was now, everything was cast in shadow. His dread turned into sheer disbelief when Kisuke picked out another key from his jailer's ring and unlocked his shackles; the heavy cuffs fell from his wrists and ankles and landed on the floor with a metallic thud. Regaining control over his reiatsu after being so long without it gave him a physical rush that no drug could ever replicate. How amazing it felt to be _whole_ again! But the rush was gone as quickly as it had come, replaced by his own cold logic. "What are you doing?" he asked Kisuke. "Are you going to fight me in here?" While he had more reiatsu than the blonde, it wasn't exactly a fair match – after all, only one of them had a Zanpakutō.

"No, quite the opposite," Kisuke laughed. "I'm going to let you give me head." He stepped closer and cupped Mayuri's chin in his hand, emitting a disdainful *tsk* when the man flinched. "Obviously, I've been hesitant to go anywhere near your mouth thus far… there's no doubt in my mind you'd bite."

_You are correct,_ thought Mayuri blackly. _I would chew you up and spit you out!_

"But up until now, you had nothing to lose," continued Kisuke, who seemed undaunted by the murderous reiatsu chilling the room. "You had no hope of ever seeing the other side of these prison walls. Killing me would've undoubtedly made your miserable life a lot less painful. Now, however, you have an opportunity-"

"I apologize for interrupting, Kisuke, but _please_ get to the point," Mayuri grated, remembering his newly required courtesy. _You long-winded sack of shit._

"Fine. The fact is, you can't harm me if you want your freedom. I took your shackles off just to prove it. Suck my cock instead of biting it and I'll believe you're earnest about the contract." He twisted Mayuri's head to the side and grazed a fingertip over the scar on his neck. "And I severed your gag reflex… so deep throat it."

"You _what_?!"

Kisuke pulled back his hand and slapped Mayuri so hard it made him stumble and fall to his knees. "Obviously when I modified your throat, that's what I did to it," he snarled. "Now it's _your_ turn to get to the fucking point." He grabbed Mayuri by the hair and roughly led them to a cot against the wall where he sat himself down, positioning the dazed prisoner before him. His cock was already hard, making a tent out of his hakama. "Pull it out," he demanded impatiently, giving Mayuri's hair one last painful tug before finally releasing his hold.

Mayuri didn't even feel like any of this was real as he loosened the ties on Kisuke's hakama and skittishly tugged on the fabric until the man's big cock sprung free like a perverted jack-in-the-box. His face stung fiercely and his scalp was nauseatingly sore from almost having the hair ripped right out of it. Somehow this was already worse than being bound up and raped. He fought down a lump in his throat and forced his hand to touch the shaft, watching his fingers encircle it with horrified fascination. It was warm and smooth, twitching with anticipation. Without meaning to, he grabbed Kisuke's thigh with his other hand for balance as he raised himself up on his knees, blinked a few times, then took the head in his mouth. He heard the blonde's breath hitch in response. Somehow, the animal part of Mayuri's brain knew exactly what to do next because he found himself teasing the head without even thinking about it until Kisuke was grinding his hips and tense with lust. The man's pulse had skyrocketed – Mayuri could feel it thrumming beneath his hand – and heat was coming off him in palpable waves. It was stunning to think his ministrations were having such an intense effect and it made him wonder, incredulously, if Kisuke was actually infatuated with him. The idea was a bit thrilling but mostly, it was frightening. When he finally slid his lips down the shaft, his ears were met with a hoarse moan. There was painful resistance as the tip penetrated his throat then nothing but a tight, suffocating discomfort as he squeezed in more and more of the length until his lips met Kisuke's blonde pubes at the base. The bastard really _had_ severed his gag reflex – lacking it felt so perversely unnatural, he was almost overwhelmed by a mixture of fury and revulsion. What if he actually choked on something one day? Would it be the end of him? Could he possibly teach himself how to gag without the reflex?

His frantic train of thought derailed when Kisuke reached down and gently stroked his neck, his fingers trailing slowly up and down. For some reason, the incongruous tenderness of the touch sent a white-hot bolt of lust down his spine. Hands shaking, he grabbed Kisuke's hips and aggressively began to deep throat him with a rhythm that could almost be described as greedy, swallowing the entire length with each bob of his head. Both of Kisuke's hands were on his neck now, hungrily massaging and groping it. Mayuri could feel the man getting close already and so was he; a knot of raw, filthy lust was clenched tightly in his groin. He wanted… he didn't know _what_ he wanted, just that he wanted all of it. When Kisuke's cum finally gushed down his throat, he milked the orgasm for every last drop and kept the man's twitching cock inside him until his need for air forced him to pull away. Gasping raggedly, he reached down to finish himself off but Kisuke grabbed his hands before he could even touch it.

"Come here," the blonde commanded, his voice silky with post-orgasm buzz. He helped Mayuri to his feet then pulled him onto his lap.

"What the-"

"Shut up and let me finish you," he whispered. Mayuri was nothing less than shocked when Kisuke leaned in and kissed him deeply on the lips, drinking in the taste and feel of his cum-slick mouth. His tongue explored every sore crevasse with lazy satisfaction and he only pressed their mouths together harder when his free hand found Mayuri's stiff cock and brought it to release with a few quick, firm pumps. Mayuri moaned desperately, the sound muffled, and squirmed on his captor's lap until he was completely drained. Once the rush of orgasm left him, hot embarrassment set in. Why the fuck was Kisuke _kissing_ him? Luckily, the taller man ended the kiss before it became completely unbearable but made no move to remove Mayuri from his lap, his free hand now resting calmly on the prisoner's lower abdomen. Mayuri's own hands were clenched into fists; he wanted to punch the contented smirk off of Kisuke's face until there was nothing left but bloody pulp. Everything about what had just happened was too humiliating for words and being held like some sort of house pet felt even worse than physical abuse. He shot Kisuke a baleful glare, a low growl sounding from his throat.

"Something the matter?" asked the blonde. "I could've sworn you were enjoying yourself." He gave Mayuri's cock a brief squeeze, eyes glinting.

Mayuri was so furious he felt like he might pass out but he somehow managed to contain himself. "I'm fine," he grated. "I just noticed that you have paint on your face."

Kisuke scowled and blushed. "Well so do you," he retorted lamely. He briskly stood up, making Mayuri stumble as he was practically dumped on the floor. "Let's go get cleaned up," he said. "Then you can sign the document and walk out of here with me."

Mayuri suppressed a disdainful snort. _I guess I passed his stupid test,_ he thought. _What would've happened had I been bad at sucking cock?_ All he knew, for the time being, was that he really wanted to brush his damn teeth.

X X X

"Good morning, Captain Kurotsuchi, how are you feeling?" Retsu Unohana's voice was perfectly friendly and her face was impossible to read beneath its placid smile. It irked Mayuri that she didn't need to wear a mask to hide her thoughts.

"Well I don't know, Retsu, why don't _you_ tell me how I'm feeling since you're the fucking doctor?" Mayuri's own face was twisted into a malignant sneer and his bloody hands were twisted into fists around his equally bloody sheets. He'd awoken to find his arm hooked up to an I.V. which he'd promptly ripped out, giving absolutely no heed to the mess it would make, and felt a twinge of petty smugness that the Fourth would probably have to throw the sheets away. How they'd managed to even get an I.V. in him during the short time he'd been out was an irritating mystery – it must've only been a few minutes since he'd blacked out. _Just enough time for another unpleasant memory,_ he thought bitterly. Somehow they'd also managed to wrestle a robe onto him, which bothered him only slightly less. Without his paint, he felt naked even with clothes on.

"I'll start off by telling you that you've been in a coma for a week," said Retsu. "The I.V. you just ripped out was the only thing keeping you alive. Your body had shut down from malnourishment so I had you on a regimen of water and nutrients, which seems to have done the trick because you've made almost a full recovery." She looked down at her clipboard and flipped through a few pages. "Your external injuries are fully healed as well," she commented. "All in all, you have a clean bill of health… but you're to drink half a gallon of water and at least one meal daily. You're still extremely underweight."

A coma?! Mayuri wanted to call the woman a liar but when he peeked down at his body, he noticed that it was free of wounds and markedly less skeletal. He felt stronger too. He peered back up at Retsu, eyes narrowed. "Am I supposed to thank you now?" he asked. "Because frankly, I don't want to."

Retsu sighed. "No Mayuri, you're not," she said. "But I wish you'd perhaps let me know an inkling of what happened to you. I know that while you're not exactly normal to your body, you've never been the type to self-harm. And whoever gave you those injuries…" her face finally lost its smile, replaced by genuine concern. "…Listen… do you need help?" she asked. "We might not be the closest of friends but I do care about you."

Mayuri blushed ten shades of crimson. For a minute there was a lump in his throat so big he couldn't talk and he was terrified he might randomly start to cry. Somehow, he managed to keep himself under control. "I've no need for your friendship or your concern," he replied, though his voice was softer than he wanted it to be. "And to be completely honest, I have no fucking clue what happened to me. I seem to have amnesia. But even if I _did_ know," he shrugged, "I probably wouldn't tell you anyway."

Retsu stared at him hard for a minute then sighed again and relaxed back into her calm disposition. "I'm not surprised you have amnesia," she said. "Your body went through a lot of trauma. Anyway, you're free to leave." She nodded toward a satchel next to the cot. "Nemu dropped off some clothing and other items for you. I'll take my leave… you know your way out." She turned and made for the door but stopped when she reached it. Without turning back around, she said, "Captain Yamamoto doesn't know the nature of your injuries but he's probably still going to give you some hell at the next meeting. I think he's just worried about you. And… if you ever decide you do want my help in any shape or form, you know where to find me." With that, she was gone, the door shutting softly behind her.

Now that he was alone, Mayuri let the scowl melt from his face. He felt tired, even though he'd been out cold for an entire week. _Damn that woman,_ he seethed. _Why does she give a flying fuck about me?_ Retsu had always been that way throughout the years. Her motherly yet unassuming presence felt like a life raft – if the day came when he was really drowning, all he had to do was reach out for her. However, he was pretty sure he'd rather just drown. While he did have amnesia, he was fairly certain he knew what had been going on… or rather, who. Why else would he be having flashbacks of Kisuke? And he still couldn't place that first memory he'd had, the one that had automatically made him cry like a pipeline had burst in his tear ducts. It didn't take a genius or even someone with above average intelligence to deduce that somehow, Kisuke had been ruining his life recently. Mayuri just didn't quite know how.

Nemu had packed his paint, mask and captain's uniform but she'd forgotten his hat. It certainly wasn't the end of the world but as he walked out of the Fourth, he wished everyone would stop gawking at his fucking hair. Before he completely lost what little remained of his temper, he flash stepped away and didn't stop until he was well within his own Division. Once there, he only gave himself enough time to find his hat before diving back into work; the Twelfth never crumbled in his absence but it tended to run on autopilot. In short, he had a lot of shit to catch up on. He just hoped that as time passed, he'd either recover from his amnesia or find the missing pieces to this puzzle some other way.


	3. Chapter 3

**WARNING**: I edited this chapter to make a certain interaction slightly less nasty than it was before. There's still some crude talk about closeted sexual orientation in a public setting though. Other than that, there's violence and rape.

Shunsui Kyōraku was having a difficult time wrapping his head around what his friend had just told him. Their favorite garden was abloom with cherry blossoms, the air was refreshingly crisp, and Jūshirō had brought him an unusually expensive brand of sake which had a mouthfeel of silk… but everything felt slightly rotten now. Just the mention of Captain Kurotsuchi's name soured his mood; to find out his best friend had fucked the guy's face was a mental kick to the groin. Jūshirō clearly knew the toll his words had taken as he was bowing so low in apology, his face was practically kissing the ground.

"I'm so sorry for telling you this," the man said for the millionth time. "I just need some advice! What I did was absolutely foul; I took advantage of Mayuri when he clearly wasn't in his right mind!" Jūshirō was so upset, he almost looked like he was going to start bawling. "Perhaps I should just turn myself in to the Maggot's Nest," he moaned miserably.

Shunsui stifled a laugh. "First of all, I don't think Mayuri's _ever_ in his right mind," he mused. "Second, didn't he come on to you?"

Jūshirō finally stopped bowing and sat in seiza, though the expression on his face was still almost comically forlorn. "Well yes… but like I said, he was a wreck! I'm almost positive he had a _concussion_ on top of everything else I described! What kind of person takes advantage of a hospitalized patient?!"

"Woah, just calm down," urged Shunsui, taking another shot of sake right from the bottle. "Worrying yourself sick about it isn't going to help anyone." He passed Jūshirō the bottle, who took it eagerly and drank at least of third of it in one gulp. The man didn't usually touch alcohol but it was obvious his nerves were absolutely shot. "Listen…" Shunsui continued, "… I think you should just go talk to him in person and apologize if it seems necessary. Maybe you can invite him to meet you somewhere public yet appropriately secluded. Like here." He shrugged. "That way you wouldn't have to step foot in his stinking hellhole of a Division."

"Oh, it doesn't stink per say," Jūshirō mumbled. "It just smells like antiseptic."

"Yah, and antiseptic stinks," Shunsui chuckled. He took the bottle back and drank a little more. For a while, both men were quiet, their thoughts turning inward. They'd been friends for so long, they were comfortable with each other's silence. Unfortunately for Shunsui, his reflecting brought him somewhere he didn't want to go, a place riddled with guilt and embarrassment. All his life, he'd hoped he would never have to share this memory with a single soul… but Jūshirō just _had_ to go and get himself involved with Mayuri. It was suddenly imperative that he knew. "Well, my old friend, this meeting is going to be a one-for-one," he sighed, "because you're not the only one who's been involved with our dear scientist."

"Shunsui, I thought you were _straight_," Jūshirō gasped, his face a classic image of shock.

"I _am_ straight," Shunsui retorted. "I'm not talking about myself, for crying out loud! No, this was someone else… and after what you told me about Mayuri's wounds, I'm suspicious that perhaps this same person is the cause of it." He made himself comfortable against the base of the cherry tree behind him and took yet another drink of sake. "I'll start by telling you it was many, many years ago…"

X X X

For some reason, Shunsui always got stuck with the worst damn chores. While being a Captain had its perks, it wasn't as luxurious a position as he'd hoped. There were certain responsibilities that he – and only he – could deal with. Most of it was official nonsense like signing paperwork, being present for ceremonies, participating in legal proceedings, etc., that he just couldn't pawn off onto his First Lieutenant. Right now, he was doing something of the sort, hand delivering an important document to Captain Urahara. Kisuke was usually available to retrieve his own damn documents but for some reason, he was too busy to leave his Division tonight. He'd completely ignored the Hell Butterfly Yamamoto had sent him earlier but rather than seek punishment, the old man had dismissed the infraction and sent Shunsui over like some kind of errand boy. Kisuke was always getting away with shit, probably because he was such a likeable guy. Even Shunsui couldn't be completely angry – the newest Captain was everyone's good friend, including his. _I'm sure he's just overwhelmed,_ he told himself as he finally reached the gates to the Twelfth. _He has a tough Division to run._

Even though he'd been through the Twelfth several times, he always managed to get turned around. The place just wasn't designed for outsiders; you practically needed a map to navigate the labyrinth of corridors and lab rooms. Shunsui cursed his sense of direction as he found himself in this exact conundrum, wandering down a dimly lit hallway studded with laboratories and completely devoid of life. He wondered if everyone in the Division was already in bed – Shinigami who joined the Twelfth were never the type to stay up late and party.

When a muffled scream suddenly sounded from somewhere down the hall, his blood ran cold and he froze in his tracks. Being a seasoned veteran of a military organization, he'd heard plenty of screams over the years but the eerie, abandoned atmosphere of this area combined with the pure unexpectedness of the sound made his mouth dry with fear. He had to take a few deep breaths to calm himself; even then, it took him a huge amount of willpower to move forward and investigate. It was his duty as Captain to protect his fellow Shinigami from harm, even if he _really_ didn't want to. Hiding his reiatsu and drawing his Zanpakutō, he crept slowly toward the source of the noise. It wasn't hard to home in as his ears were met with several more agonized screams to guide him and, as he drew even closer, a second voice that was almost as loud and hysterical with rage. Both voices were male – two comrades having an argument, perhaps? Shunsui had a feeling he was being far too optimistic. In reality, it sounded like the owner of the first voice had been gagged… and no one screamed like that unless they were in a _lot_ of pain. As he got closer and closer, the angry second voice became clear enough to understand.

"You made me look like a fucking _idiot!_ In front of _everyone_, no less! Had you just kept your fucking mouth shut and let me figure it out on my own, we wouldn't fucking _be_ here right now!" The tirade was periodically studded with screams which were, each time, becoming weaker. "It was _my_ fucking experiment, _my_ fucking mistake to fix! If I'd wanted your two cents, I would've fucking _asked_! Don't you remember what your fucking role is?" Whoever this asshole was, he had no problem with the F word. "You're my fucking _slave_! You don't fucking _breathe_ unless I tell you to! Do you want to go back to the Maggot's Nest? Do you?!" The response was a moan – Shunsui noticed with a shiver that the moan was accompanied by the dull thud of a fist connecting with flesh.

Finally, he turned a corner and found the source of the uproar, a brightly lit lab room with a huge window that revealed every detail of the goings on behind it. Shunsui guessed this was such a disused section of the Division, privacy hadn't been on the perpetrator's mind. He hid himself in a dark room opposite the hall and cautiously spied upon the scene.

He didn't recognize Mayuri right away; the scientist was completely nude and without his paint. If it wasn't for the shock of blue hair and gadgets in place of ears, Shunsui wouldn't have guessed the man's identity in a million years. His mouth had a wide strip of tape over it, his wrists were cuffed to the wall behind him and his body hung limply from the restraints, clearly too weak to hold itself up anymore. As far as his injuries went, it looked like he'd been mauled by a pack of wolves. He was absolutely covered in bites, lacerations and big, nasty bruises; Shunsui could easily tell that while a lot of the wounds had just been inflicted, many of them were older and in various stages of healing. Putting a bow on the whole package was a sickening amount of blood pouring from the cuts and forming a puddle at his feet. All in all, it was a wonder he was still even conscious.

Captain Urahara physically looked no different than usual but Shunsui still felt like he didn't recognize the man. His casual grin was replaced by an ugly, hate-filled snarl and his eyes were bright with cruelty. Shunsui genuinely wondered if he'd inhaled some sort of toxic gas down here because he felt like he was hallucinating all of this. There was just no way this was real! His mind spun with confusion as the scene behind the window played on.

"I've been nothing but kind to you," Kisuke growled, removing his haori and tossing it aside. He sounded calmer now but not by much. "I've given you _everything_. If it wasn't for me, you'd still be rotting in your cell! And in return, all you give me is your stuck-up attitude! You've already shown me up at my own experiment, what's next? You going to re-teach me the scientific method? Give me a pop quiz? Maybe I should just sit in a corner and let you take the reins!" He stepped forward and grabbed Mayuri by the chin, forcing their eyes to meet. "I was going to take you out for drinks tonight," he said, "but you went and ruined it. Why can't you just be _nice_ to me for once?" When he callously ripped the piece of tape off his subordinate's lips, Shunsui shuddered with sympathy pains. The sympathy pains immediately soured to horror when Urahara bent down and aggressively kissed Mayuri. Even though it had been obvious from the start there was something sexual going on – Mayuri was friggin naked – Shunsui still hadn't fully believed it. Kisuke literally could not stop talking about women; he was more of a skirt chaser than Shunsui himself!

He didn't even realize he'd diverted his gaze until a hoarse moan made him jerk his head back up. He nearly lost control of his hidden reiatsu – Kisuke was fucking Mayuri up the ass now. _Well, that's enough of that,_ he promptly decided, fighting the sudden urge to vomit. He left the Twelfth much more quickly than he'd entered, wildly flash stepping through the mazelike hallways like a pinball until finally, he was deposited outside. Captain Urahara was going to have to wait for his stupid document. And Shunsui was going to forget what he'd seen – there was no way in hell he was going to report something like that. _They were just being kinky,_ he told himself, even though it was a lie. _To each his own, right?_

X X X

"Wait… you saw that happen and you didn't tell anyone?" Ukitake's face was expressing something between horror and rage. "How _could_ you?"

Shunsui sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He'd known this was going to happen… his friend was so damn predictable. One second the guy was confessing to a borderline crime, the next he was back up on his high horse. "Jūshirō, it was a _century_ ago," he explained, spreading his hands in supplication. "I've had plenty of time to reflect upon my poor decision. And either way, Kisuke was convicted of his crimes and banished shortly after so the point became moot."

"Or so you thought," Jūshirō huffed. The angered expression melted off his face, replaced by a look that was nothing but exhausted. "What exactly am I supposed to do with this information?" he asked, almost pleading.

"Oh, I haven't the faintest idea," Shunsui replied. "I just thought you deserved a little bit of context. If you're going to go back to merely being Mayuri's acquaintance, it would be extremely weird to bring it up. However, if you two wind up becoming _closer_," he winced at the thought of Ukitake taking Mayuri as his lover, "you'll have to deal with it at some point."

"Damn it, of course you're right," Jūshirō lamented.

The two friends resumed their comfortable silence, their ears attuning to the gentle sound of the breeze stirring the fragrant cherry blossoms. Shunsui sighed again, inwardly this time. One thing he knew about Jūshirō was that if the sex was good, (which judging by the description, it had been), his many years of experience fell away and he reverted into a blushing, lovestruck teenager. Though his sexual encounters were fairly prolific, none of them were _casual_ in his mind. There was no doubt he'd try to court Mayuri and, as consequence, wind up in some sort of confrontation with Urahara. Shunsui cursed his shitty luck. He'd stick by his friend to the bitter end but he really didn't like where they were heading. Common sense dictated staying as far away from Mayuri as physically possible… you simply weren't supposed to go _toward_ him.

X X X

"The meeting's about to start, we should really get going," Nemu said quietly.

"Bah, I know, I know!" Mayuri scowled at the rotten color of yet another failed potion and ripped off his safety glasses, throwing them angrily across the room. They hit Akon on the back of his horned head but the man didn't even flinch from his own studies; his Captain's notorious fits of rage were just a mundane part of reality in this Division.

Two weeks had sped by since Mayuri's release from the Fourth. He'd buried himself in his work, only pausing long enough to take his daily dose of nutrition (food was over-rated; he had pills that worked just as well) and catch a few hours of sleep here and there. Demands for new medicines and tinctures had stacked up wildly in his absence – he was having a particularly hard time with one order from Captain Yamamoto himself for a potion that increased stamina. Mayuri wasn't even close to getting it correct yet; instead, he'd accidentally invented the Shinigami equivalent of Viagra. All the male members of his squadron who'd volunteered as test subjects were sequestered away in their quarters with painful erections, probably jerking themselves raw until the effects wore off. The putrid potion in front of him was yet another failed attempt to remove _that_ aspect of stamina.

He'd had slightly better luck with his amnesia although the process was dragging along much more slowly than he wished. With Nemu's assistance, he'd literally been rewiring his own brain, reconnecting severed synapses one by one. He had a feeling this was no ordinary case of amnesia – the lost memories were far too precise. He could recall every single experiment he'd worked on but when he tried to think of Kisuke, he drew a blank. It was definitely a hard fact that he'd been seeing the man though; according to Nemu's recounts and his own schedule book, he'd been sneaking off to the World of the Living once or twice a week for two months prior to being hospitalized. That one shred of memory was still all he had though and he'd played it over in his mind so many times by now, he couldn't even bear to think about it anymore. Kisuke had told him to disappear. And he'd obeyed.

At least one mystery had been solved – why he'd wound up in the Fourth. Nemu had found him that evening, collapsed outside his private quarters. Apparently he'd just been returning from a bath, hence the lack of paint. Beside herself with concern, Nemu had discreetly flash-stepped him straight to Unohana's doorstep. She swore up and down that no one else had seen him and Mayuri could do nothing but grudgingly believe her. He did reprimand her for doubting her own skills, though. She was more than proficient at healing; after all, she was modeled after a medical genius.

After disposing of the spoiled potion, Mayuri hurriedly tidied up his appearance and bolted to the Captain's meeting, flash-stepping most of the way. He knew he was up for a proper grilling from Yamamoto and showing up late would just make it worse. Luckily, he arrived right on time – the other Captains were just beginning to file into the meeting room, finishing whatever conversations they'd been having before they had to be quiet. Mayuri joined the small crowd with a disdainful sneer; there was no doubt much of the conversation had been geared toward him.

Once everyone was properly lined up inside, Mayuri shifted around his gaze, analyzing everyone's demeanor. His eyes, unblinking when he focused, were met with even more awkward responses than usual. Everybody seemed to be gawking at him save a few exceptions. Byakuya, as usual, was staring aloofly at a wall and looking supremely bored, Retsu was smiling amicably at nothing in particular, and the Jūshirō-Shunsui duo was almost comically uncomfortable, both men staring intently at the floor as though it was the most interesting thing they'd ever seen. Mayuri had already assumed Jūshirō would tell his friend about their encounter – those two had no idea how predictable they were. The only pair of eyes that didn't shy from his were Zaraki's (well, one eye, to be more precise). The Kenpachi merely grinned wolfishly. Mayuri had a feeling the man was utterly disinterested in all the gossip flying about; if there wasn't a fight involved, he didn't give a fuck.

When Captain Yamamoto entered and began the meeting, Mayuri kept his face and posture passive. He knew the old fart would wait until everything else was out of the way before addressing him; all he could do was feign interest in the dull proceedings and pretend he didn't feel like tearing his hair out. Nearly an hour had passed before the topic finally shifted to him.

"All right then, Captain Kurotsuchi, I believe it's time to address the elephant in the room," he rumbled. "Please explain to everyone here how you came to be so severely injured that you required the attention of the Fourth Division for an entire week."

"I would gladly explain but as Captain Unohana can confirm, I have a rather severe case of amnesia," he replied. "My best guess is that one of my many experiments backfired on me. While my Division and I follow safety protocols to the tee, there is always some degree of danger associated with the work we do. I apologize for my carelessness." He gave Yamamoto a polite bow, hoping beyond hope his honey-dipped answer would appease him.

It did not. In fact, it did the opposite. Yamamoto became so furious that for a second, the room became scalding hot with his powerful reiatsu, causing every single Captain to wince and stagger under the immense pressure. "Don't think you can lie to me, Kurotsuchi," he bellowed. "You think me a fool?!"

"No, sir," Mayuri sighed, still bowing. Even though his gaze was planted firmly on the floor, he could tell the other Captains were now openly angry with him. It was an unspoken rule not to piss off Yamamoto and he'd just broken it, severely.

"I already know you have amnesia but for you to try and tell me you almost starved to death because of a _beaker_ breaking, you must really think I've become senile!" Yamamoto's voice was still severe but it had lost its furious edge. "Now I'm only going to tell you this once. If you deliberately incapacitate yourself again – be it anorexia or by any other means – I will strip you of your title and send you back to the Maggot's Nest! I've no need for a Captain whose personal problems get in the way of their duty! Do you understand me?"

Mayuri raised his head just enough to look Yamamoto in the eyes. "Yes, sir," he said.

"Good," the old man grumbled. "Meeting adjourned." He rose from his seat and exited the room as if nothing had even happened.

"Anorexia? You've got to be kidding me," Suì-Fēng taunted the second Yamamoto was out of earshot, her mean little face twisted into a sneer. "I thought only teenaged girls got that disorder! You _gay_ or something?"

"I'm not going to gratify that splatter of verbal _vomit_ with a response," Mayuri acidly replied, "however, I can't help but ponder the irony that you of all people would make such an accusation." He usually ignored Suì-Fēng and her asinine comments, deeming it beneath him to egg her on, but she'd just wandered a little too close to the fringes of his sanity. He turned toward her and crossed his arms, feeling for all the world like a coiled, venomous snake.

Suì-Fēng narrowed her eyes. "Exactly what are you implying?" she growled, her hands curling into fists at her sides. "And be careful with your words."

Mayuri grated his teeth. "Which is it, woman? Should I tell you exactly what I'm implying or should I be careful with my words? Do you even know what a paradox is?"

"Just spit it out," she snarled, bristling. Judging by her flustered appearance, she'd never even heard of the word let alone understood it.

"The word 'paradox' has more than one meaning but the definition that suits this situation – and you – is," he tilted his head and cupped his chin piece, "a situation, person, or thing that combines contradictory features or qualities. For example: 'Suì-Fēng slings about homophobic insults while being in lust with a member of the same sex.' Surely you see the absurdity of this statement and, simultaneously, the source of my amusement."

"You-" she began to babble, "I never-"

"Never what?" goaded Mayuri, his eyes glinting. "Worshipped Yourichi like she's some kind of sex goddess? Tried to take naked pictures of her? Threw a century-long temper tantrum when she left that you're still on about? Honestly, I don't give a rat's ass about your sexuality but since you saw it fit to criticize mine, I see no reason not to throw it right back in your face. And you tell me to be careful with _my_ words? Ha!"

Suì-Fēng looked like she was about to spontaneously combust. "You liar," she retorted lamely. "I'll get you for this!"

Mayuri grinned. "Anytime, anywhere," he said blithely. "Just beware, my Bankai might give you _penis envy_."

With an enraged shriek, Suì-Fēng flash-stepped away. Mayuri snorted. He'd just had his dirty laundry flung all over the fucking place; he had _no_ problem exposing someone else's. When he looked around, he saw that all the other Captains were staring at him in stunned silence. "Anyone else have something to say to me?" he asked, resting his hand lightly on Ashisogi Jizō's hilt. "Just as a warning, whoever's next won't get off as _lightly_ as Suì-Fēng did."

One by one, the Captains left. Even Zaraki passed up the opportunity for a fight, although his menacing grin suggested he'd throw down literally anywhere but here in the First Division. No one was stupid enough to start a fight on Yamamoto's turf. Mayuri wasn't stupid either… he just didn't give a shit at the moment. He'd known the meeting was going to be bad but even his own pessimistic expectations had been trumped – he felt like he'd just been tied to a stake and publicly flayed. To think that Yamamoto would bring up his embarrassing weight loss _and_ threaten him with the Maggot's Nest?! Unbelievable! Some of the younger Captains hadn't even _known_ about his criminal history! On the note of 'deliberately incapacitating' himself, he was just a hair's width away from running himself through with his Zanpakutō and living out the rest of his days as sentient slime.

"Um… Captain Kurotsuchi?"

Mayuri whirled around to find Ukitake standing there uncertainly. He'd been so blind with rage, he hadn't even noticed the man had never left. "Do you need something?" he asked, his voice clipped and cold.

"I… I _know_ this is a really bad time… but I've been wanting to talk to you," Jūshirō stammered awkwardly. "I tried reaching you several times these past few weeks but I guess you never got my messages." The poor guy sounded fumbling and nervous, like he was asking someone out on a date for the first time ever. It was hard to believe he was one of the Gotei 13's most respected Captains with well over a century of experience under his belt.

"I can be difficult to get a hold of," Mayuri said tersely. In truth, he was _impossible_ to get a hold of sometimes unless the message was of importance. Since leaving the hospital, he'd ordered Nemu to discard any unofficial mail, so Ukitake's invitations had all wound up in the trash. "Anyway, I suppose I have a few minutes to spare," he relented, "but I highly suggest we go somewhere else to converse." While Yamamoto had ears all over the Seireitei, talking here in his Division was about as private as screaming into a loudspeaker.

"Oh, okay," Ukitake said, blinking a few times. "I know just the place we can go." He looked completely shocked; he'd obviously been expecting Mayuri to turn him down. Mayuri was shocked as well. He had no idea why he'd just agreed to spend time with this man. Had he been rewiring his brain incorrectly? As he followed Jūshirō to wherever they were going, he finally reached a much simpler conclusion: he was just horny. He'd been too busy lately to even think about sex and now that he was presented with the possibility of it, he was letting himself get dragged along like a fish on a hook. Oh, well. Perhaps a distraction would do him some good.

They arrived at one of the Seireitei's many public gardens, although this one was just far enough from everything to be fairly private. In fact, Mayuri had never seen anyone here except for Ukitake and Shunsui. Although his obsession for his work made him a bit of a shut-in, he still had an eye for beauty and couldn't help but appreciate the abundance of blooming cherry trees lining the grounds. After staring at Yamamoto's grizzled mug for an hour straight, the pleasant sight was a welcome change. Ukitake finally stopped at the base of a particularly large cherry tree, where he sighed with resignation and ran a hand through his hair before facing Mayuri. To the scientist's surprise, he bowed.

"Captain Kurotsuchi, I owe you the deepest of apologies," he said. "I know that words won't mend what I did to you. The fact is, I had a moment of weakness and in it, I did something despicable. I am at your mercy; punish me as you see fit. If you'd rather see me behind bars, I'll go without a struggle. I will gladly receive any sentence you give me if it even begins to right the wrong I so callously imposed upon you."

Mayuri was supremely baffled. "What the fuck did you do?" he asked suspiciously. Had he somehow been involved in Yamamoto's unusually harsh mood? That was indeed a punishable offense in his book.

"What? Don't you remember what we did at the Fourth?" Now it Ukitake's turn to be confused; he stopped bowing and shot the scientist a questioning look.

"Of _course_ I remember what we did, you dolt," sneered Mayuri. Then, as the pieces fit together in his mind: "Wait. You're not apologizing for _that_, are you?"

"Well… yes," stammered Jūshirō. "What else would I be apologizing about?"

Mayuri stood there for another moment before letting out a harsh bark of laughter. "You can't be serious," he chuckled. "Maybe you're the one with amnesia – I came onto you, not the other way around! And unless my memory betrays me, we both found the outcome… _satisfactory_." He suppressed the urge to lick his lips.

"You're not upset with me?" the man asked in disbelief. "Any decent man would've declined your offer! You clearly weren't thinking straight!"

"Oh, please," Mayur said, exasperated. "Don't even _think_ of talking about decency around me because I don't fucking _have_ any. You do realize who I am, correct? What possibly made you think my lack of morality somehow _changes_ when it comes to sex?" He laughed again; he just couldn't help it. "Honestly, I thought you were going to demand an apology from _me_. I wasn't exactly nice to you."

Jūshirō let out a huge breath of air and visibly relaxed. It was as though he'd been holding that breath ever since the incident. "I don't blame you for being hostile," he said. "And believe me, no one in the Seireitei expects you to be nice."

"Ah," Mayuri said, eyes glinting. "So you _are_ aware of my reputation. For a moment there, I thought you were either ignorant or daft. Perhaps even both." Met with the slightly less relieved expression on Jūshirō's face, he grinned widely, baring his teeth. "Oh come on, now. If you're going to take offense to every snide remark that comes out of my mouth, this might as well be our last conversation outside the professional sphere."

Jūshirō shifted uncomfortably. "To tell you the truth, I haven't even thought that far ahead," he confessed. "I had the apology memorized, that was it." The man's level of honestly was almost off-putting. Being a secretive person himself, Mayuri couldn't begin to fathom why anyone would ever say more about themselves than necessary. "Since I'm being completely open here, I'll just go ahead and say that I've never much liked you," Jūshirō continued, "but now I don't really know what to think."

Mayuri was quickly becoming irritated. "Don't beat around the bush," he snapped. "You find me insufferable but I give good head. I get it. I find you insufferable too but you have a really nice _cock_. Does that sound about right? If you want to hook up again, I'm more than willing… but if you need to find some sort of common ground for us to stand on, I won't be able to fucking deal with it."

"Wait, no," Ukitake said, almost panicked. "I'm not trying to push you into a _relationship_ or anything-"

"Good," Mayuri interjected.

"-I was just trying to say that I wouldn't mind getting to know you a little better." He held up his hands placatingly when Mayuri menacingly narrowed his eyes. "Hey, if you want to keep it strictly casual, that's fine too," he relented. His desperate demeanor suggested he'd do whatever the scientist wanted as long as it guaranteed more sex.

"I'm glad we could come to a mutual understanding," Mayuri said smugly. Finally, he licked his lips, letting his tongue run along his teeth. "So…where and when?" he purred.

Jūshirō stopped looking like a nervous idiot as he pondered the question; his green eyes darkened and his lips curved into a faint smirk. "I'd say here and now if this wasn't a public area," he replied softly. "But since it is… how about Shinigami Suites? Say… eight pm? I'll pay for the room."

Mayuri's grin widened devilishly. Shinigami Suites existed for one reason only – sex. Since relationships were borderline illegal, Shinigami used the place to hook up without the fear of being found out. The place was a paradox; everyone knew about it, including Yamamoto, but it had never fallen under scrutiny. Perhaps even the old man realized that, short of castration, it was impossible to stop people from fucking. "That sounds fitting," he said. "I'll see you there." He gave Ukitake one last hungry look, specifically below the belt, then quickly flash-stepped away. He had no desire to hang around and talk anymore, plus he was afraid that if he did, he'd end up on his knees in no time.

AUTHOR's NOTE: I also changed the part where Nemu whisks Mayuri away to the Fourth. Before, I had him naked when he collapsed, which is just fucking weird. Also, I'd been meaning to change the interaction with Suì-Fēng (Suì-Fēng, Soi Fon, Cell Phone?!) for quite some time. If you've read this before, you know what I'm talking about. If not, it was very unnecessarily nasty, even for Mayuri. Also, in the long mess that is the Bleach anime, I have no idea if Suì-Fēng tried taking naked pics of Yoruichi in the past or present... I just know that it happened and hey, that's messed up lol


	4. Chapter 4

At seven fifty-five pm, Ukitake sat on the bed in the motel room, cursing himself. He couldn't believe he'd slipped so easily into being a base pervert – it had been a seriously long time since he'd been so driven by lust as to come here. Everything about this place just felt _dirty_… and he was sure that if he inspected the furnishings close enough, he'd discover more definitions to that word than he cared to know. He just wasn't this kind of person! But as he looked once more around the room and his definite place within it, he realized that, as a matter of fact, he was _exactly_ this kind of person. After all, he'd been the one to suggest coming here, not Mayuri. He wondered, if he'd bounced the question of 'when and where' back to the scientist, what place the man would've picked. It was a more interesting question than he cared to admit, as if Mayuri would have some exotic, forbidden location to whisk them both away to. The guy was always bending the laws of physics; perhaps he'd even created a private getaway in another dimension!

His thoughts dispersed when he heard a knock at the door. He looked at the clock on the wall – now it was eight pm, down to the second. _Guess he's not the type to arrive fashionably late,_ he thought, slightly unnerved at the degree of punctuality. He opened the door and in walked Mayuri, whose piercing, golden eyes ran a quick once-over of the room before settling on Ukitake. Equally unnerving was the fact that the scientist never blinked when he was looking at things, specifically other people. It had always been a complaint around the Seireitei because it made everyone uncomfortable. Jūshirō sympathized, feeling more like a specimen under a microscope than a Shinigami. He used the awkward moment to give Mayuri the same visual pat down; while the man was wearing his paint, he'd forgone his hat and mask. Also missing was his Captain's haori and purple scarf although Ashisogi Jizō was in its usual place at his waist. The resulting look was a perfect balance between formal and casual – enough of both to keep too many heads from turning on the way here. Ukitake had also left his haori behind. It was impossible for any Captain to achieve complete anonymity as their faces were so well-known but toning down the outfit said, without words, that they weren't on official business. To put it more crudely, it meant 'leave me the fuck alone.'

Mayuri finally ceased his inspection and brushed past Ukitake to the dresser. He was holding a bottle of sake, mid-grade by the look of the label, which he unceremoniously uncorked with his teeth. "I don't usually drink," he said after spitting out the cork, "but I find sex to be more pleasurable when I'm mildly intoxicated." He took a few gulps from the bottle then offered it to Ukitake, who took it gratefully and did the same. "As for my paint, do you want it on or off?" he asked. "It doesn't matter either way to me… you've already seen me without it."

Jūshirō set down the bottle and pondered the question. "Does your paint rub off easily?" he asked. He actually had about a million questions regarding Mayuri's paint: why he wore it, what it was made of, how often he wore it, and so on. He'd agreed not to be nosey though.

"It doesn't rub off unless I want it to," replied Mayuri with a hint of pride. "I've had an entire century to perfect it, after all." He took Ukitake's hand and guided it to his face. "See for yourself," he said. Jūshirō complied, running his fingers over the man's cheekbone where black connected with white. The colors stayed perfectly separate and when he turned over his hand to inspect it, it was clean. The paint didn't even feel like it was there; all Jūshirō had felt was smooth, silky skin, which he immediately wanted more of. He returned his fingers to where they'd left off, running them slowly down the side of Mayuri's face. The scientist's response was almost too faint to notice – a slight hitch in his breath, a twitch in the muscles of his jaw. When the fingers reached his mouth, he emitted a soft growl and parted his lips. His pink tongue was a stunning color contrast against the stark black and white as he flicked it out and gave Jūshirō's fingertips a coy, quick lick. "You already missed your chance," he said darkly. "I'm not going to take it off now… you've made me too flustered." He took Jūshirō's hand in both of his and gave it another lick, longer this time, before guiding it down to his cock as proof. It was half-hard already and it throbbed eagerly against his palm.

Part of Ukitake wanted to shove Mayuri down on his knees right then and there but he forced himself to wait. They had a whole night together… there was no need to rush. "I like the paint just fine," he confessed, giving the man's cock a playful squeeze before resting his hands on his narrow hips. "I just hope it doesn't have a taste." Throwing caution to the wind, he leaned in and gave Mayuri a chaste yet firm kiss on the lips. It took him all the willpower he possessed to keep his mouth shut and pull away; the younger man's lips were absolutely intoxicating. He loved kissing, almost as much as loved the act of having sex. It was so intimate, so _expressive_. He'd never had a lover who liked it quite as much as he did, though, and he had a feeling someone as secretive as Mayuri might even flat-out hate it. It couldn't hurt to try though, right? He hoped that was true.

"Why the hell did you stop?" Mayuri growled. "I _know_ my paint doesn't have a taste." His hands were gripping Ukitake's shoulders and he was peering up at the taller man with a critical eye. Their bodies were lightly pressed together; Jūshirō could feel Mayuri's heartbeat, rapid with anticipation.

"I didn't know if you would like it," he said. "It's a bit too intimate for some people."

"Well, I'm not _some people_," Mayuri arrogantly scoffed. "Now give me a chance to _reciprocate_ this time." He twined his hands into Ukitake's long hair and pulled, making their mouths join again. This kiss was nothing like the last; it was deep and feverish, spilling over with desire. Mayuri was an excellent kisser, making use of his tongue, lips and even his teeth to elicit thrills of pleasure from the other man until they were both so high with lust, they were practically melting against each other. Ukitake guided them to the bed and sat down dizzily; Mayuri moaned and fell onto him, straddling his lap. They finally broke the kiss to automatically begin tearing off their clothes, stripping down to the waist. Mayuri drank in the sight of Jūshirō's bare torso and purred with satisfaction. Ukitake was equally pleased with what he saw – the scientist's body was almost unrecognizable from how it had looked back in the Fourth Division. Gone was the wasted, emaciated frame and before him was a lithe picture of health, sleek and smoothly muscled. He looked as fast and flexible as a whip. The paint complimented him even further; Jūshirō never imagined sterile white could be so enticing. It transformed him into a marble statue, a living work of art. Speaking of marble, Jūshirō's erection was becoming so hard it felt like it could've been made out of stone and Mayuri was just exacerbating it, grinding his hips, feigning getting fucked by it. Ukitake forced himself to flip the man off his cock and onto the bed before he came uneventfully in his hakama.

"Sorry," he heaved. "I was getting too close."

Mayuri rolled his eyes. "You _really_ don't have to be so honest," he said testily. Luckily, his peeved expression quickly melted to one of lust when Ukitake, propped up on one elbow, began to tease him. He toyed with the man's chest, rolling his nipples between thumb and forefinger before abusing them further with his tongue and teeth until they were as hard as pebbles. He then trailed his mouth up, pausing at the neck, lingering even longer at the slightly swollen lips, and back down. And down some more… until finally, he'd reached the waist of Mayuri's hakama. He deftly undid the ties and smirked when he pulled out the scientist's erection – it was just as hard as his own. Without further ado, he shifted on the bed and took it in his mouth. Mayuri's response was an incomprehensible stream of curses and an almost complete lack of self-control as he wildly clawed the bed sheets and gyrated his hips. Ukitake had a feeling the man got head about as often as he did himself, which was pretty much never. After a few moments, the scientist's curses toned down to hoarse sighs and his hands found their way over to Jūshirō's snow-shite hair, where they kneaded and massaged his scalp. Jūshirō felt himself blush – he'd never particularly liked giving head before but Mayuri's reactions were so satisfying, he felt like he could do it all night. The man's cock was big too, not ridiculously so like his own, but considerably larger than one might expect from a guy with his meager stature… and he could tell, with much relief, that the size was natural, not a perverse augmentation. In his opinion, it was perfect, and he expressed the sentiment to the best of his abilities, even letting it penetrate his throat a few times. He had a sensitive gag reflex so deep throating for any length of time was out of the question (he doubted another living soul held a torch to Mayuri's prowess anyway) but his ministrations were certainly having their desired effect. No more than five minutes had passed when Mayuri uttered a particularly profane curse and wrenched himself free of the attention. Breathing heavily, he winced and squeezed the head of his cock as if to stop cum from spilling out of it.

"What's the matter?" Jūshirō teased smugly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Were you getting too close?"

"_Nothing_ is the matter except for the redundancy of your questions," Mayuri replied acidly. "If that was an attempt at talking dirty, perhaps you should consider wearing a _muzzle_." His voice was so breathless and hoarse, the pompous rebuttal fell flat, almost to the side of comedy. It didn't help that he'd begun to sweat; his blue mohawk was plastered damply across the side of his face and down the back of his neck. It was starting to become a bit disturbing how the paint still wasn't running. Muttering to himself, he removed his clothing the rest of the way and fished a small bottle of lube out of a hidden pocket in the folds of his hakama. "Finish undressing," he told Jūshirō, "and lay on your back. I want to ride your cock, unless you have a problem with it."

"Oh," stammered Ukitake, suddenly blushing even deeper, "no, I don't have a problem with that at all. But-"

"But you have a really big cock and anal sex is painful," Mayuri hissed, cutting him off. "Yes, I know, I know. However, I happen to _like_ the way it feels so keep your concerns to yourself."

Jūshirō decided to let the matter rest, undressing obediently. He had a feeling Mayuri had subjected himself to so many surgical horrors over the years, he didn't even feel pain the same way normal people did anymore. Whether or not that was true, it didn't really make a difference. Mayuri seemed to enjoy all kinds of things most people typically hated and Jūshirō was lucky he enjoyed doing those things with _him_. He laid himself down but not before stealing another kiss from the scientist, who reciprocated with slightly less enthusiasm than before.

"I have other things I'd prefer to kiss," he said slyly. He sunk between Jūshirō's legs, his golden eyes half-lidded, and gave the half-hard shaft a few long, hungry licks. By the time he took the head in his mouth, it was fully erect again. He breathed in and without further hesitation, swallowed the entire length all at once. Jūshirō gasped and uttered a moan; he'd forgotten how strange yet intensely pleasurable it felt to suddenly be buried in Mayuri's throat. Everything about it was unnatural, from the complete absence of the gag reflex to that distinct *click* of the man's jaws as they unhinged to compensate his girth… but damn if it didn't feel fucking amazing. So amazing, in fact, that it only lasted a few minutes. Mayuri pulled away just as he was getting close, leaving his cock pulsing sorely. Ukitake was so unbelievably frustrated, his hips rocked a couple more times even though he was just fucking the air. This was the _second_ time the bastard had brought him right to the edge!

"Calm down," Mayuri panted, catching his breath. "The end will justify the means." He opened the bottle of lube and poured a copious amount onto his hand, then rubbed it thoroughly onto Jūshirō's cock and between his own legs. It was done with brisk efficiency, reminiscent of a doctor prepping a patient for surgery. After putting away the bottle and wiping off his hand, he straddled Jūshirō's hips and positioned his cock against his ass.

"Wait, you're not going to stretch yourself first?" Jūshirō gasped. The horror, the _horror!_

"Obviously not," Mayuri snarled. "But if you try to thrust into me right away, I'll tear. _And_ I'll fucking slap you into next week." With that said, he bit his lip and slipped in the head. Ukitake's breath left him with a loud groan; it felt like he'd gotten the wind knocked out of him. He'd never had anal sex before because of obvious reasons and this was nothing like how he'd imagined it. Mayuri was so tight, it was almost painful. He couldn't begin to fathom how much pain Mayuri was in – the man was wincing and beads of sweat dotted his forehead. Ukitake watched with surreal amazement as the scientist slowly eased down onto his long, thick cock until it was buried to the hilt within him; at this point his eyes were clamped shut and goosebumps had risen up on the flesh of his arms and legs. A few moments passed where neither man moved a muscle. Ukitake was afraid that if he so much as twitched, Mayuri would literally split in half, and Mayuri looked like he was trying to collect himself, his back straight and both hands clenching his own thighs. Finally, his golden eyes snapped open and stared directly into Jūshirō's. "You can thrust now," he said, his voice soft and ragged. His hands moved to Jūshirō's chest and sinuously, he began to move his hips.

Lust pulsed through Ukitake like an electrical shock. He grabbed Mayuri's narrow hips and slowly started to thrust, matching the man's movements. Mayuri moaned harshly through clenched teeth and shivered in response, his eyes burning with raw intensity. For a while, he merely met Ukitake's careful thrusts but gradually his movements became more eager until finally, he was slamming himself down each time and crying out with pleasure. Through his haze of lust, Jūshirō noticed that he could _see_ his cock's bulge inside the man, slightly distending his thin stomach with their increasing rhythm. The realization made him growl ferally and stab even harder, roughly positioning Mayuri's hips into an angle that let him penetrate deeper. The scientist was panting and slick with sweat from the exertion, his blue hair hanging in wet spikes over his face, and his cock looked painfully hard; Ukitake was sweating and breathing quickly too, his entire body on overdrive as it strove for release.

"I'm about to cum," gasped Jūshirō, slamming relentlessly into the impossibly tight passage.

"So am I," Mayuri managed to utter between pants. "Fucking do it, _please_…"

The fact Mayuri had said the word 'please' was Jūshirō's undoing. He eagerly complied, falling into a spinning pit of ecstasy as he spilled his seed with several long, hard thrusts. Mayuri came simultaneously, grabbing his cock and immediately orgasming until Jūshirō's chest and stomach were wet with cum. Once they were both spent, Mayuri sat up a little, letting Jūshirō's softening cock slip out, then flopped down onto the bed like a ragdoll, curling up on his side. After lazily wiping the cum off his torso with the edge of a sheet, Jūshirō nuzzled up behind the exhausted scientist, planting a few light kisses along his shoulder.

"Mm," Mayuri murmured. "Why are you doing that?"

"I don't know," said Ukitake. "Because it feels good?"

"Mm." Silence, then: "Will you do that one thing you did back at the Fourth?"

"What thing?"

Mayuri squirmed uncomfortably. "That _thing_, fuck. You… stroked my head. It felt good."

Jūshirō was so surprised, he had to suppress a nervous snort of laughter. Who would've thought the vicious scientist liked head rubs? As he started to slowly massage Mayuri's scalp, he was just waiting for some sort of excuse. 'This doesn't mean a thing,' or 'don't get any ideas.' The tirade never came though; instead Jūshirō's ears were met with a soft snore. Mayuri was fast asleep. After rubbing the scientist's head some more and pondering the night's events, Jūshirō followed suit, drifting off with his fingers still tangled in the mess of blue hair.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hope you enjoyed some sex that was actually consensual. The reason I picked Ukitake as a love interest (if you can call their relationship that lol) is because he's just so friggin vanilla. In my opinion, 'opposites attract' is kinda horseshit irl but it works in storytelling! Also, thanks for reading this! I wasn't expecting many hits, considering the unpopular characters, and I was right. But I'm still going to keep writing and I hope a few people get a kick out of it.


	5. Chapter 5

**WARNING**: Rape and abuse. Also, I edited the first chapter to say this but in case you're picking up here, this whole story takes place just before the events of Bleach. I'm not sure how far forward I'm going to carry it but for now, Ichigo and co are still just oblivious high school kids!

Mayuri sat in the room's only chair, legs crossed, fingers drumming on the armrests. It was just before dawn; the sky was dark grey outside the window. He looked over at Jūshirō, who was snoring loudly on the bed, and smirked arrogantly. After napping for a short time, they'd spent the rest of the night screwing around with each other until both the bottle of sake and their libidos were drained. _Well, not *completely* drained, _he thought. _I don't know about Jūshirō but I could go again, easily._ The man's illness probably made strenuous activity impossible for such a prolonged period of time. Either that or he'd literally run out of cum. It could easily be the latter. They'd both orgasmed so many times, he'd stopped bothering to count. He stretched lazily, his muscles stiff from twisting into positions they didn't usually have to go into, and glanced absently at his hands which, like the rest of him, were free of paint. He'd removed it during his first of many showers – Jūshirō had been absolutely baffled that all he needed to use was soap. Not _everything_ about him was awash with dazzling feats of science! However, to be fair, it _had_ taken him a lot of trial and error to create a paint that was both light yet covering, impossible to rub off yet easy to wash away. It was actually pretty funny that he could look back on any point of his life and remember exactly what form of paint he'd been wearing. Once sequestered to his cell in the Maggot's Nest, he'd had to go a long time without it since his gruesome ingredients had required another soul around to murder. It wasn't until he'd set up a deal with one of the guards that he'd gotten a supply. This trade had been much more innocent than his transactions with Urahara – the man had simply needed a tutor for science and math. After his release, he'd gone through about a million different versions, varying from water to oil based, ink to charcoal, etc., etc., until finally settling upon the current version. It wasn't perfect but it was pretty damn close.

There was a reason he was thinking about his paint in such detail – last night, during the afterglow of an orgasm, he'd had a new flashback. Luckily, he'd been bracing himself for it as he had no desire to start bawling like an infant again. It had still hit him pretty hard, though. If it wasn't for the room's dim lighting, Ukitake surely would've noticed the brief yet extreme change in his facial expression, which had soured from lazy satisfaction to cold, miserable horror before he got himself in check. Honestly, the paint hadn't even been a big part of the flashback. Urahara had merely commented on his appearance, that was all. It had been two whole months ago, the beginning of this entire mess that had become of his life.

X X X

"Wow, you look even more ridiculous than you used to," Kisuke said. "I thought that was impossible but somehow you persevered." The ex-Captain was sitting in a relaxed pose at a table in his shop, casually sipping tea as though seeing Mayuri for the first time in a century was perfectly mundane.

"You're the one to talk," Mayuri spat. "How you've remained hidden all these years with nothing but that _stupid_ hat as a disguise eludes me." His demeanor was the polar opposite of Kisuke's – his hand was poised over Ashisogi Jizō's hilt, his face was twisted into a murderous snarl and every muscle in his body was so tense, he felt as though he may snap at any moment like a poorly tightened bowstring.

It was more than coincidence which had led up to this moment. A few members of his Division had chanced upon the shop recently, extolling it as a great little place to buy gadgets for Shinigami. Once Mayuri had caught wind of the news, he'd taken direct disciplinary action with said members before fitting a personal investigation into his schedule. A shop in the Human World that caters to Shinigami? What absolute fucking nonsense was this? If a human was even _interacting_ with Shinigami, it was a matter of importance. For a human to be _selling goods_ to Shinigami was almost blasphemous in its absurdity! How did this fool know what Shinigami were let alone what they may require? He'd considered handing the matter over to the paranoid Suì-Fēng as it was more suited for her Division. However, since his own Division had been galivanting around in the shop for god knows how long, he was worried she'd accuse him of treachery or some such nonsense. So, even though he had a million better things to do, he had to settle this mystery himself.

Now here he was. He wanted to slap himself for failing to consider the possibility that Kisuke was behind this – he fit the bill perfectly – but like everyone else in the Gotei 13, Mayuri had pushed the man from his thoughts and carried on with his life. Probably even more so than others; his horrible 'relationship' with the bastard had caused him to almost completely bury that part of his past.

"Well, are you going to tell me the purpose of your visit?" inquired Kisuke. "If it's to purchase something, I'm afraid I'm not too keen on giving you a discount."

Mayuri's eyes almost popped out of their sockets. "Purchase something?" he echoed hysterically. "Have you gone mad?! In case you've forgotten, you're an escaped convict; I'm going to _arrest_ you, not peruse your wares!" He slid Ashisogi Jizō a few inches from its sheath with a flick of his thumb against the guard. "If you don't come willingly, I _promise_ I will make you suffer," he growled.

Instead of bracing himself for battle, Kisuke threw back his head and laughed loudly, startling Mayuri so bad he nearly lost what was left of his composure. "You've got to be kidding me," he chuckled. "Does everyone in the Seireitei still hate you that much?" Met with Mayuri's baffled expression, he began to laugh even more until he was doubled over and gasping for breath. Mayuri wasn't sure he'd ever seen someone laugh so hard.

"Spit it out, asshole," he snarled. "I don't have time to ponder the punchline here."

Finally, Kisuke's laughter abated although he was still emitting little snorts between breaths. "Kurotsuchi, I've been interacting with Shinigami of every rank for _years_, from new recruits to Captains!" he said. "Hell, even members of the First Division come here from time to time! From a legal standpoint, my shop is in the same grey area as Shinigami Suites – everyone knows it's bending the rules but no one cares enough to do anything about it." He gestured around the shop with a lazy wave of his hand. "Believe it or not, I have wares that are superior to yours, even without my own fancy research department. Let's just call it quality over quantity." Grinning, he folded his arms and shrugged. "And also, unlike you, I'm quite charismatic," he added with no small degree of arrogance. "Many Shinigami who knew me back in the day are happy to have me back as a friend. Hell, just the other day I hosted a small party. A motley mixture of ranks and Divisions attended, more than I was expecting. I believe some of your own Division were here as well! Did you permit a leave of absence for two or three of your men last Friday?"

Mayuri snorted a curse under his breath, his eyes narrowed to hateful slits. Yes, he had given said permission. Replying to the question aloud would be redundant, as Kisuke obviously knew the answer. "So basically, you're trying to tell me that I'm the only one in the Seireitei who doesn't know about you because I'm not fucking _cool_ enough?" he snapped. "The Gotei 13 is a military organization, not a goddamned _clique_."

Kisuke merely shrugged again, his eyes glinting with mirth. "No, but it _is_ a social structure," he explained, "and if you act like an antisocial asshole, you're inevitably going to be secluded from it. No one's probably told you about me because they were all just afraid you'd cause a ruckus and ruin a good thing."

"A good thing?" Mayuri scoffed. "You're the farthest thing from good I can possibly imagine! I may be an antisocial asshole at least I'm _honest_ about it – you're just a wolf in sheep's clothing!"

"Hmm, I think you're giving wolves too much credit," Kisuke purred. "But honestly, this past century has toned me down quite a bit. My trials and tribulations have molded me into someone more compassionate than you may remember. More… _human_."

Mayuri wrinkled his nose. "That was a miserable attempt at sounding redeeming," he said. "Humans are just a bunch of sadistic little babies. Although… in that aspect, I suppose you fit right in."

Kisuke uttered a 'hmph' and, with a sigh, rose to his feet. "Say what you want about me, I could care less," he muttered as he stretched and popped his back. "Now, I'll ask you again: what's the purpose of your visit? Arresting me will just get you laughed at and killing me will definitely get you sent back to the Maggot's Nest."

Mayuri took a deep breath and let it out slowly, forcing himself to relax. No matter how much he hated it, Kisuke was right. Starting a fight would end poorly, even if he wound up being the victor. Kisuke's punishment was to be the stripping of his Shinigami powers and banishment, not death… and if the man was actually speaking truth, even that point was now moot. Mayuri had been called hot-headed more than once in his life but that didn't mean he was rash. If Kisuke was blowing smoke up his ass, he'd find out soon enough. But for now, the only wise thing he could do was walk away. It was about as impotent a move as he could imagine but such was life sometimes. "As pleasant as your company is, I'm afraid I must take my leave," he drawled, neither willing nor able to hide his contempt. "In fact, I think I'd rather chew on a _razor_ than endure you for another second." Hand still resting on Ashisogi Jizō's hilt, he turned and stalked toward the exit.

"You sure about that?" Kisuke's voice was suddenly softer than silk, causing the hair at the nape of Mayuri's neck to involuntarily prickle up. "Come now, some part of you must miss me."

"Miss you?!" Mayuri felt like laughing, crying, and screaming all at once. This interaction had been hard enough as it was, now Kisuke had the sheer audacity to even _hint_ at mentioning their past together? "I fucking _despise_ you! Why would you possibly think I'd feel any differently?! Has the human world made you _stupid_?" He whirled around to shoot Kisuke a murderous glare but wound up flinching in surprise when he found the man had flash stepped right behind him. They were close enough to kiss. The realization made his skin crawl and his throat tighten – he felt like he was suffocating.

"Wow, that hurts," Kisuke remarked, a forlorn expression managing to look believable on his face. "You've never known how to hold your tongue, have you? You're not a very _obedient pet_."

Time slid to a standstill. The words were like the chime of a bell, a drop of water in a still pond, a branch snapping in the muffled silence of a snowy forest. Mayuri couldn't put words to the way he felt other than it was as if Kisuke had shoved a key into his brain and turned it. But what had been unlocked? Being the ever curious soul he was, he'd read up plenty on post-hypnotic suggestion and even experimented with it on test subjects. His results had been too insignificant to pursue to any real extent – while he'd managed to get a few reactions from people, he had far more effective tools of manipulation at his disposal. Nevertheless, he had enough experience with it to know it was probably what Kisuke had just used on him. _The bastard would've had plenty of opportunity to plant something in me back in the Maggot's Nest,_ he thought bitterly. But what? And why?

"Oh, stop trying to figure it out, you'll just confuse yourself," Kisuke sighed. "For now, just…" Not bothering to finish the sentence, he leaned in and kissed Mayuri on the lips. Immediately, the nature of the suggestion became clear, as Mayuri, who just moments earlier had shivered with revulsion at the thought of the act, felt his pulse skyrocket and his face flush. His hand clenched desperately around Ashisogi Jizō's hilt but he found he couldn't make himself draw it from its sheath, and when Kisuke slipped in his tongue, his hands forgot what they were doing altogether and wound up clutching the taller man's hips. Every single detail of the contact was euphoric, from the feel of Kisuke's mouth to his rough, missed-a-day-of-shaving facial hair against his cheek, to his solid, muscular body. Every. Single. Detail. All Mayuri knew was that he felt like he'd die if he didn't get more. It wasn't until Kisuke firmly broke the kiss that he finally came to his senses enough to comprehend what the hell he'd been doing. But even the stark reality that he'd been more than willingly sucking face with the person he hated most didn't quite hit him like it should've – rather, it skipped over the surface of his consciousness like a rock skipping over a pond.

"Let's go somewhere more private," Kisuke chuckled, smitten. "If a human walked in, they'd see me making love to thin air. Doubt it would be good for business." He took Mayuri's hand and led him to the back of the small shop, where there was a room that conveniently said 'private.' "I sleep here sometimes," he explained, followed by some spiel about stocking shelves late. Mayuri wasn't listening; his mind was a whirlwind of thought. First of all, this was more than mere post-hypnotic suggestion. Kisuke was certainly no fool and whatever this was, it had his damned stamp of quality on it. Mayuri wasn't even able to feel angry about this, even though he was certainly trying. The only emotions he could conjure up were admiration at the level of skill used on him, curiosity, and something else, something bigger than he'd ever felt before. His heart felt like it was going to explode in his fucking chest from longing. It was more than just lust. It was pure and absolute devotion, it was elation and grief and worry all rolled together, it was _love_. Mayuri had never felt it before but now that it was here inside him, he knew it couldn't be anything else. _Kisuke charmed me,_ he told himself, _and he did such a good job of it, I don't know if I'll *want* to try and undo it. Holy shit, I'm screwed, aren't I?_

A not-so-gentle tug on his hand snapped him out of his thoughts. Kisuke had opened the door; Mayuri meekly followed him inside. The door closed behind him and Kisuke shuffled around in the darkness for a second before flipping on a light. The room was small and cluttered, with a futon against the back wall and boxes upon boxes of inventory taking up just about every other inch of floor. Atop a few boxes lay little pieces of day-to-day junk – an empty ramen cup, an ashtray, a few beer cans. If Mayuri was anything like himself at the moment, he would've wrinkled his nose and compared the place to a bachelor pad. As it was, all he could do was just stand there stupidly and watch as Kisuke shoved around the junk, making a sort of pathway to the bed. When the blonde was satisfied, he knelt and shed his gigai with a practiced ease. The thing was kneeling in such a way it didn't even fall over after he'd stepped out of it. "Wearing a gigai during sex feels like wearing a condom, except it's around your whole body," he said. "Obviously not preferable."

"I've never tried it," Mayuri said with absolutely no cynicism. Seeing Kisuke – the real Kisuke – was as pleasurable as it was painful. Wearing his Shinigami garb, sans the hat, he looked as though he'd been away from the Seireitei for a day rather than a century. Just long enough to grow that stubble on his face. It was like looking through a window into the past, a past so fucking traumatic Mayuri still had sleepless nights, staring helplessly at his bedroom ceiling as the memories came to him unbidden. He'd never say it, not even to himself, but he was still a wreck from it all. Scars like that didn't just go away.

Kisuke clicked his tongue and grabbed Mayuri's wrist, hastily checking his pulse. "High but acceptable," he muttered. He held up his hand. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Uh, three," Mayuri managed.

"Delayed reaction but at least correct… now keep your eyes trained on my fingers." He moved his hand around a while, watching Mayuri's eyes with hawk-like intensity, then sighed and shrugged.

"What's the matter?" asked Mayuri. He felt fucking stupid for not knowing what it was himself. Was he really acting that out of it? There was just so much going on in his head…

"You're a miser, that's what," Kisuke replied. "You've never been in love before and your body is having a hard time handling it, especially on such an elevated level. Don't worry, you'll adjust. It'll just take some time."

Absolutely nothing in the explanation sounded even remotely optimistic. This wasn't going to fade away over time like some… _love potion_. It sounded permanent. Mayuri felt like he was going to faint. Apparently, it was more than just a feeling because he didn't even realize he was collapsing until Kisuke caught him mid-fall and promptly carried him over to the bed. "Goddamnit, Mayuri," the blonde grumbled. "There's expensive shit in here, be careful!" He sat down next to the dizzy scientist and glared at him for a moment before snorting and flicking the chin of his mask. "Get undressed," he commanded, "and start with that crap on your face." As Mayuri numbly started removing the mask – it was literally screwed into his skull so it took some finesse – Kisuke watched with bemused interest, leaning back against the wall to get a better view. "I don't get why you've tried to make yourself look so ugly," he mused. "Is it because you're afraid someone else will come along and fuck you as hard as I did?"

Mayuri felt himself blush under the paint. "My face is private," he managed. "So I hide it." Even that iota of truth was more than he'd ever confessed to anyone. In fact, yes, he _was_ afraid of being seen as pretty. After all, that's why Kisuke had raped him to begin with, because he'd seen him without his paint. And even though a century had passed, he hadn't physically aged a day. In human years, he looked no more than twenty, maybe thirty if he hadn't slept in a week. He was covered in scars and had the personality of a viper but he had no doubt that if he showed his face to the Seireitei, everyone would start calling him kawaii or some shit.

When the mask was finally unscrewed, he leaned forward and placed it on the cleanest box he could find, then set his hat atop the pile. He felt Kisuke shift behind him, followed by the warm rustle of fingers running though his hair. "Mmm… I like the mohawk," the blonde growled softly. "Suits you. And god, that hair. I could play with it all day."

Mayuri shivered, nuzzling into the caress. "I'd like that," he sighed under his breath. He didn't know if it had to do with being a brainiac but getting his head rubbed always made him melt.

"Come on," Kisuke prodded, ending the massage. "Keep undressing. I want to see more than your _head_."

Mayuri obeyed, wrestling off his haori and kimono but pausing at the ties of his hakama. "Why just me?" he asked peevishly. "I might like to see more than just _your_ head, as you put it."

Kisuke smirked and pushed Mayuri onto his back, then practically ripped off his remaining clothes. "You don't get to ask me _shit_," he said, although his voice was still soft, playful. "Now tell me, does your paint still rub off?"

"No," Mayuri said proudly, "I-"

Before he could finish, Kisuke was on him like a starved animal, feeling him up and down first with his hands, then his tongue, then finally his teeth, biting him so hard in a few places – his thighs, especially – Mayuri thought he'd pull away with a chunk of flesh in his mouth. It hurt so bad he nearly achieved anger, even though the emotion still managed to elude him. Finding it felt like trying to catch an eel – just when he thought he had it, it slipped out of his grasp. It left him with a feeling of helpless, pathetic desire, wanting the abuse even though it felt awful, wishing Kisuke would just get naked and fuck him. His cock was so hard it hurt and the blonde was deliberately ignoring it, even though his big cock was hard too, making a tent out of his hakama. After one last long, particularly painful bite right on his neck, Kisuke finally was sated. Breathing heavily, he kissed Mayuri on the lips, aggressively using his tongue, then sat back against the wall to catch his breath. Mayuri tasted blood – obviously his own – and when he looked down at himself, his body looked like something out of a horror show. Unless he used advanced healing techniques, some of these bites were going to be around for a long time. Which was exactly Kisuke's intent. The man had always had a thing for branding his 'property'. Mayuri used to hate it but now, he found himself actually admiring them. There went the pebble, skipping over the pond again.

"Your throat. Now." Strong fingers wrapped into Mayuri's hair and forced him into a sitting position. Kisuke had untied his hakama and his revealed cock was rock-hard, twitching with anticipation. Mayuri barely had time to drool before the blonde shoved his mouth down onto it, forcing the thick length in as quickly as possible until Mayuri's lips met his groin. Being penetrated so abruptly was impossible to achieve without repercussions – even though he couldn't gag, his throat tore slightly, a raw, rasping pain that saw no relief as Kisuke repeated the thrust over and over, relentlessly increasing the speed of it until finally he came, spilling his seed with several long, lingering pumps. It went so deep down Mayuri's throat, there wasn't even any in his mouth to swallow when Kisuke pulled out. Which was probably a good thing – he needed air so badly, he might've fucking suffocated on a mouthful of cum. Being out of the loop for so long, Kisuke may not even know to stab him with Ashisogi Jizō to turn him to slime… and that would be the end of him. One hell of a way to go. He wanted to express the sentiment out loud but when he tried to talk, nothing but a pained rasp came out. _Damnit, the bites I can hide but how do I explain *this* to the Seireitei?_ He wondered nervously. _I'll just have to make a beeline to my lab and heal it before anyone tries to talk to me._ He gingerly rubbed his sore throat; just the light pressure of his fingers against it made him wince.

"I'm guessing you haven't done that in a while," Kisuke teased. "I even went easy on you!"

Mayuri merely rolled his eyes. Even if he managed to choke out a response, what would be the point? Kisuke was just goading him. The man knew damn well he hadn't gone easy; hell, if he'd gone any harder, he'd be potentially wondering what to do with the fresh corpse on his bed! Shinigami were notoriously difficult to kill but believe it or not, suffocation without resuscitation had taken the lives of more than one throughout history. Deciding not to dwell on the thought any longer, he bit his lip and let his gaze pass over Kisuke's form. Whereas normally, he'd be able to analyze every detail of a person within the blink of an eye, he found it nearly impossible to focus on the blonde at all without every cell in his body practically screaming from this new onslaught of emotion. He felt like if he were forced to look for too long, he'd literally explode. He'd seen people in love before – while they sometimes acted like nervous idiots around their objects of affection, they never displayed the crippling, hysterical symptoms he was currently experiencing. Yes, _crippling_ was the perfect word for it. For crying out loud, he couldn't even _harm_ Kisuke – mere minutes earlier, he'd proven this fact by finding himself incapable of unsheathing Ashisogi Jizō. And just now, even more so! It hadn't even _occurred_ to him to struggle or bite when he was choking half to death! So Kisuke had been lying when he'd said it was just 'love,' there was clearly some kind of physical fail-safe in place that made him as docile as a lamb. He'd become just what the trigger phrase had been, an obedient pet! His breath was coming in shallow pants and his body was trembling; he felt like he was trapped in a cage that kept getting smaller and smaller with every new realization. It was somehow even worse than his cell in the Maggot's Nest – at least there he could _see_ the bars!

"I already told you to stop trying to figure it out," Kisuke chided, a lopsided grin on his face. "I promise, you're not going to get anywhere with it." He grabbed Mayuri by the waist and pulled him in close, so he was sitting right between his legs. "Although it is pretty enjoyable to watch you struggling inwardly like this," he added, lazily resting his head against Mayuri's. "The greatest mind in the Seireitei, finally stumped! And the conundrum lies right inside his own pretty head…"

Mayuri was suddenly in the midst of a contact high so divine, he could barely piece together the shit being said. Kisuke's hands were running lightly up and down his chest and stomach as he spoke, making his skin tingle, sinking devilishly close to his cock with every pass, which had begun to throb. He had a feeling he'd cum spontaneously if the man so much as grazed it. He sighed raggedly and sinuously ground his hips, letting his own shaking hands grasp Kisuke's thighs. "Why did you fucking do this me?" he groaned, his voice a ragged whisper.

"Hmm… why wouldn't I?" Kisuke purred. He clutched Mayuri's hips and ground back; he was already fully erect again. "No, perhaps I'll explain myself someday… but first, you'll have to earn it."

"Earn it, eh?" panted Mayuri. He managed a chuckle through his sighs, even though he felt more like crying. "Whatever that entails…"

"Oh, a lot," Kisuke replied with no hint of sarcasm. "I've got a whole century's worth of fantasizing to enact. But don't worry, I'll keep it simple for now." He ground against Mayuri one last time before easily pushing him over onto the bed. The scientist clumsily rolled onto his back – gods, he felt so weak! – and peered up at his captor, who was finally stripping off his clothes. There had never been any question in his mind that Kisuke was handsome – back in the day, he used to flip flop between sullenly appreciating the fact and absolutely hating it. Below that cultured looking face of his was the body of a natural athlete: a sculpted torso, well-muscled arms and legs, and an ass that looked as though he did nothing but squats in his spare time. He also had just enough body hair to look manly – almost none on his chest but a decent trail of blonde going down the lower part of his abdomen to his pubes. It had always seemed unfair to Mayuri that someone so fucking ugly on the inside got to waltz around in such a nice body. Of course, under the charm's influence, his many criticisms sounded hollow… like the meaning had been sucked out of them. All he could do was lay there hungrily, his mouth literally watering with anticipation as he gazed at the man like some junkie looking at a pile of drugs. Kisuke, naked now, smirked arrogantly at the silent adoration he was receiving. "Wish I had a camera," he mused. "The look on your face is priceless." Embarrassed, Mayuri diverted his gaze and turned his head to the side. The blonde clicked his tongue and roughly grabbed him by the chin, forcing him to face up like before. "I was implying that I liked it," he said testily, "so keep fucking doing it. Pretty sad actually, I had to rearrange your entire damn brain just to get you to look at me like I'm not a sack of _shit_." The smirk had melted off his face and for a second he looked genuinely sad but it was short-lived; when he reached back and slapped Mayuri hard enough to see stars, his eyes twinkled with malicious glee. When Mayuri, stunned, reached up to cradle his stinging cheek, Kisuke grabbed his wrist and pinned it to the bed. "Just stop moving, will you?" he hissed. "Just fucking lay there and look at me, that's all I ask!"

Mayuri bit his lip and nodded. He wondered if this room was soundproof – Kisuke's voice had been getting louder by the second even though Mayuri wasn't provoking him in the slightest – and decided that it probably wasn't. Was the door even locked? Why didn't Kisuke seem to care? Well _he_ cared, so he laid absolutely still and hoped the blonde would get over whatever the fuck he was on about before some customer heard the ruckus.

Fortunately, Kisuke's breathing slowed and his grey eyes softened with lust as he looked over Mayuri's helpless form. He now looked resolute as he sat back, spat on his hand and rubbed it on his hard cock. Mayuri tensed and fought the urge to squirm – he wanted this more than anything but he hadn't forgotten how much it hurt. If the blonde would just start off a little slower, it would be completely bearable but he never had in the past and Mayuri doubted he was going to start now. And of course, he didn't: he clutched the scientist's hips and crammed in his entire length with one forceful thrust. It took Mayuri every ounce of willpower he possessed not to cry out; he bit down so hard onto his lip that he tasted blood and his hands balled tightly into fists at his side. He was obediently still gazing up at Kisuke but his vision had blurred and when he blinked, hot tears slid down the side of his face. It was fucking embarrassing – Kisuke hadn't managed to make him cry since their first awful time together. He'd quickly learned to avoid it by channeling it into anger, which he usually had plenty of. But now he just didn't and it was all he could do not to start bawling.

Kisuke, who'd obviously noticed the tears, was beaming. He looked like a man who was living his dream. The only saving grace was that this level of smugness had apparently rendered him mute; he merely grinned, licked his lips, then continued to thrust, deliberately at first, then more quickly as lust took hold. Mayuri found himself becoming wrapped in lust as well as the pain faded to something bearable; Kisuke's cock was hitting his spot with every thrust, sending waves of pleasure through him. His hands unclenched and clawed the bedsheets for a while before reaching up and grabbing Kisuke's waist, urging him to continue. At first the blonde looked shocked by the new contact – it was the first time Mayuri had willingly touched him, after all – but it immediately melted into raw passion. He fell onto the scientist and attacked his mouth, his neck, his chest, his own hands roving everywhere they found purchase, until the two were a blur of tangled limbs, wildly straining against each other as they strove for release. Mayuri cried out despite his efforts to stay quiet when Kisuke finally wrapped his fingers around his cock and jerked it off until he burst; he felt the blonde follow closely, filling him up with several hard, frenzied thrusts. When they were both drained, neither man could even move for a while. Kisuke was a hot mess on top of him, breathing heavily, his hair a damp, disheveled mop, and Mayuri was too out of it to even think. He probably would've passed out if the blonde didn't finally pull out and drag himself to a sitting position.

"Fuck, Mayuri," he groaned, wiping the sweat from his brow with a loose bedsheet. "I guess I forgot how tight you are… I wanted to last a lot longer…"

"Well, you're not exactly small," Mayuri replied hoarsely. As the afterglow dwindled, the pain of being practically split in half was creeping back into his senses. He winced as he lifted himself up, wishing the futon was a little more cushioned under his sore ass. "Now please tell me there's somewhere I can wash up," he rasped.

"Wow, your skills of observation are laughable," Kisuke taunted. "You didn't see that door behind you?"

Mayuri twisted around and spotted the door in question, which to be fair was almost completely blocked by junk. Even if he _had_ seen the door, how was he supposed to know it led to a fucking bathroom? He would've probably assumed it just led to a closet. Whatever. Pointless thoughts. He moved aside the junk (none of it looked expensive like Kisuke had claimed earlier) and went inside. The cramped space had a full-length mirror for some reason so as he cleaned himself of blood, sweat and cum, he stared vacantly at his mangled reflection. Kisuke's bites, many of which had punctured skin, were already swollen and fringed in red, even through the paint. If he didn't have a wealth of medical supplies at his disposal, he'd almost certainly fall prey to infection. His gaze drifted up and into his own eyes, which were slightly red from crying and lacking their usual spark. It was more than just post-orgasmic lethargy; they looked so lifeless he almost thought they'd be quite suited on a corpse. For fuck's sake, he looked like a total stranger! When the dead eyes became wet with the threat of more tears, he shook his head and sniffled, forcing himself to look away.

He returned to the other room to find Kisuke already dressed, sitting on the futon with an air of impatience and smoking a pipe. "Done powdering your nose?" he griped. "Damn, you take longer than a woman."

Mayuri decided to ignore the comment and proceeded to dress himself. When everything was in place, he shot Kisuke a questioning look. The effects of the charm felt slightly less severe with his lust sated and he wanted to get the hell away while he could… but he knew Kisuke wouldn't let him leave without permission.

"Here, eight pm, in one week," the blonde said, as if reading his mind. He rose to his feet and pulled Mayuri to him, pressing their bodies together lightly. "Oh, and by the way… I want you to lose some weight," he casually added.

Mayuri blinked and stiffened in the embrace. "You want me to do _what_ now?" he asked slowly. He'd heard the demand perfectly well but failed to comprehend it. Why would Kisuke want him to get _thinner_? A desire for the opposite was equally offensive but at least it would sort of make sense. He barely even _had_ any body fat!

"Ten pounds will do nicely," Kisuke continued, completely ignoring Mayuri's redundant question. "And I know that's a lot to lose in a mere week but you're a man of science… you'll figure something out."

"Oh will I?" Mayuri grated. His anger was so close he could almost taste it. "Perhaps, since I'm a _man of science_, I'll figure out how to lift this _curse_ you put on me!"

Kisuke merely laughed in response, then bent down and placed a soft kiss on the corner of Mayuri's mouth. The scientist inhaled sharply and shivered from the contact, automatically craving more but Kisuke, grinning slyly, just pulled away. "I'll see you in a week, my pet," he said lightly. "In the meantime, try not to miss me _too_ much."

Flustered beyond belief, Mayuri whirled around and stormed out. The audacity of that man! But as he made his way to the Seireitei, his heart began to ache with longing. He felt the distance stretching between them acutely and by the time he'd reached the safety of his lab, he was in agony…

X X X

… And the memory ended there. Mayuri snapped open his eyes, which had drifted shut during the long flashback, to find himself back in Shinigami Suites. The sky had lightened slightly outside the window but the sun hadn't yet peeked over the horizon; he guessed that only about ten minutes had passed. It felt like it had been much longer – when his brain was working at full capacity like it had been, time always crawled around him. This was due almost entirely to one of his creations, the Superhuman Drug, which allowed him to process thought much more quickly than normal. He'd carefully rigged up an implant which responded to heightened brain activity by releasing a minute quantity of the drug into his bloodstream, thus solving the problem of wasting a bunch of time deep in thought. If one were foolish enough to overuse the drug, they'd doom themselves to a torture worse than they could imagine, one single second feeling like a hundred years!

He was pulled from his musings not by a sound but the absence of it – Jūshirō had stopped snoring. He looked over to find the man stretching lazily on the bed, his enticing form no more than a suggestion under the rumpled sheets. Mayuri was actually surprised with himself; he usually would've ghosted by now, loathe to endure the vapid, awkward interactions that inevitably ensued after a night of casual sex. He wasn't sure why but he simply didn't want to leave just yet. It was probably just curiosity… he was interested to see if that big cock would be sporting any morning wood after all the attention he'd given it. He definitely wouldn't be opposed to giving it even more. However, deep down inside, he knew that wasn't the only reason he was staying. His flashback had him feeling a deluge of emotions: fury toward Kisuke for a thousand obvious reasons, shame toward himself for being so careless, a mixture of dread and impatience to unravel the whole story, and worst of all, fear. Kisuke was still out there – there's no way Mayuri would've offed him and gotten away with it – and it was anybody's guess what he was up to. Mayuri wasn't afraid of injury or even death; the Gotei 13 had no room for cowards. But losing his free will and being turned into Kisuke's plaything? He'd rather overdose on the Superhuman Drug than go through that again! He had a feeling that was why he'd lost his memories – despite the risks it entailed, he'd performed a drastic operation on his own brain to cancel the effects of the charm. After all, who cared about risks in a battle against fucking mind control? And even though whatever he'd done had been successful, he had no idea what to do next. If Kisuke was as chummy with Shinigami as he'd led on, not even the Seireitei was safe anymore. He may have spies, or at least spying devices surreptitiously implanted into the 'quality' goods he was selling. The second Mayuri got back to his Division, the entire place was getting a full sweep! Furthermore, it was implausible but not entirely impossible for the man to pull enough strings to weasel his way back into Yamamoto's good graces. If he was let back into the Seireitei, it would all be over. Either way, even if none of these things ever happened, he knew – he just _knew_ – he'd run into Kisuke again someday. And for the first time in many, many years, the ball was in the enemy's court. There were countless ways Mayuri could prepare himself for the interaction but there were also far too many unknowns to ensure his victory. What if Kisuke had another trigger word? What if something else entirely could be used as a trigger: an image, a sensation, a scent? How could he-

"You're still here, Mayuri? Wow, I didn't think you'd be the type to stick around after…" Jūshirō was sitting up in the bed, his hair in disarray. "Oh, that sounded rude. What I meant was, I am pleasantly surprised to see you. I wish you were a little _closer_, though…"

Mayuri chuckled and unfolded himself from the chair, stretching lithely. He finally realized the other reason he was sticking around – he just didn't want to be alone right now. "You were snoring so loud, it shook me off the bed," he teased. "It's no wonder your Division drinks so much, none of them can get a good night's sleep!" He was wrapped in Jūshirō's kimono and nothing else; he'd absently thrown it on earlier because it fit almost as loosely as a robe. He let it slide off his shoulders and to the floor as he stalked over to the foot of the bed and climbed onto it. "I hope _you_ at least rested well," he purred, "because I'm not done with you…" He crawled on hands and knees up to Jūshirō and sat before him, his golden eyes glinting with devilish mischief.

"Ah, is that so?" Jūshirō laughed. "You really _are_ a maniac." He reached up and brushed a stray lock of hair from Mayuri's eyes; the younger man smirked and seductively licked his wrist. Jūshirō moaned ever so softly in response and bit his lip but instead of taking the very tempting bait, he dropped his hand and let out a heavy sigh. Realizing he'd just been shunned, Mayuri instantly turned into a time bomb before him, silently threatening to turn the room into a battleground if he didn't get an explanation _post haste._ "No, I want to, _believe_ me I want to," Jūshirō stammered, wincing involuntarily. "That's not what this is about, I promise! It's just… before we continue any further…"

"Spit. It. Out." Mayuri's voice was pure venom.

"I… _need_ to know what's going on with you, alright?" burst Jūshirō. "I really enjoyed last night, a _lot_, and I'd love to have _countless_ more nights with you. This probably sounds stupid but I want to actually take you somewhere nice next time! But I can't, I _won't_ go on with this knowing there's someone out there who hurt you like that!" He sighed again and caught his breath. "I know you're a private person and you probably think it's none of my business… but please, let it _be_ my business! Even if all you need is a shoulder to cry on, I _have_ to be given a chance to help you!" When he'd finished, he gazed intently at Mayuri, a pained expression on his face as he awaited his response.

It was Mayuri's first instinct to lash out – and hard – but somehow, he held back the heap of scathing insults simmering on the tip of his tongue. _I don't want to be alone,_ a tiny voice in the back of his head kept saying. _I'm afraid, I don't want to be alone!_ "How… am I supposed to trust you?" he grated. "I mean _fuck_, you already told Kyōraku what we did at the Fourth." Just saying that much was immensely difficult but at least he'd given Jūshirō a chance to win him over, albeit a tiny one. He was staring straight back at the older man, his golden eyes narrowed and unblinking.

"How did you… was it really that obvious?" Jūshirō muttered. Met with nothing but a pregnant silence, he shrugged helplessly. "He's my best friend, I trust him with my very life," he confessed. "I just really needed some advice on how to approach you after what happened so I went to him. I realize now the error of my ways… but if it's any consolation, you have my word that he'll keep what I said to the grave." Mayuri's response was more silence, accompanied by an unconvinced raised eyebrow. "But speaking of Shunsui, I suppose this is a relevant time to tell you something he said he witnessed long ago," he went on. "I apologize if this is painful to hear…"

As Ukitake wove together a rather awkward, censored version of what Shunsui had spied upon, Mayuri felt the color rise in his face. He remembered that night perfectly; he unfortunately remembered _every_ bad moment from back then perfectly. His only consolation had been that at least no one had known about it! "So, how many people are in on the joke?" he hissed. "Is the entire Seireitei laughing behind my fucking back?"

"What? No!" Jūshirō looked genuinely confused, then saddened. "Gods, what kind of monster would find that funny? No, he didn't tell a soul. The only reason he told me was because I was… _involved_ with you… and he thought perhaps it was relevant!"

"I didn't realize my fucking privacy was _relevant_ to anyone but myself," Mayuri snarled. "And getting a fucking blowjob does not mean you're _involved_ with me! Do you even think before you speak?" He stopped talking before something even more hurtful came out and rubbed his temples. "God fucking damnit," he grated. "I'm just… _really_ pissed off right now."

"I don't blame you," Jūshirō soothed. "This is all a lot."

"Should've just let me give you head," Mayuri grumbled. He finally sat back – he'd been kneeling this whole time – and grudgingly covered his lower half with a loose sheet. Jūshirō really knew how to kill the mood.

"So… may I tell you what I think?" asked the mood-killer in question.

"You think Kisuke's the one who put me in the Fourth," Mayuri bluntly answered. When he saw Jūshirō nod, he just huffed and looked off to the side. "Is biting really that rare?" he muttered, avoiding any verification.

"The only bites I've seen that were half as bad were from Hollow attacks," said Jūshirō with his usual honesty. "Since I'm not a doctor, I wouldn't really know how common that kind of abuse is. I'm guessing it's pretty rare, though."

"Well I guess I'm just lucky then, eh?" Mayuri dryly joked, inwardly shuddering at the way Jūshirō had called it 'abuse'. "Now, let me pose you a real question: have you heard anything about a shop in the Human World that sells goods to Shinigami? I'll be able to tell if you're lying so don't even try." He swung his gaze back to Ukitake, directly into his eyes.

"I've… heard rumors," the older man admitted. "No one from my Division is allowed to go to the World of the Living unless under very strict orders so I know my squadron hasn't seen it. However, other Captains have been hearing an awful lot of talk about the 'cool blonde guy' who has a shop. I even heard speculation that it's Urahara but if that were the case, I feel like someone would've verified that to me by now. Perhaps I'm perceived as too much of an authority figure to be told the truth about some things…"

Mayuri nodded, satisfied with the answer. He knew it sounded paranoid, even to himself, but part of him had been worried that Jūshirō may be bugged with a spying device. Now that that was out of the way, he was even closer to a crossroad he didn't want to be at. Either tell the man what happened or keep it to himself. The decision made him want to tear his hair out. "If I tell you, you must promise to keep it to yourself," he heard himself say. "If it gets out – even to Kyōraku – you'll be missing a lot more than just your lungs."

Jūshirō shifted uncomfortably at the open threat but his gaze didn't falter. "I promise," he said solemnly.

"Fine, then." Mayuri found himself unable to keep eye contact; suddenly his throat felt tight and his heart was pounding in his chest. "Yah, it was Kisuke," he said quietly, basically just mouthing the words.

"It was?" Jūshirō echoed, sounding astonished even though that had been his guess. "Wait, is he really the one running that shop? Was that how you-" He stopped immediately when Mayuri buried his face in his hands and suddenly began to cry – quiet, breathless sobs that shook his thin frame. For a moment, Jūshirō was at a loss as his brain tried to process all the shit being thrown at it. Being naturally empathetic, he was normally quite good at consoling people… but Mayuri was so far from normal, it made him freeze up with indecision. Would the scientist appreciate physical contact right now or should he just leave the room and give him some space? Luckily, his voice of reason brought him to his senses, shouting: _why would he open up to you if he just wanted to be alone?! You offered him a shoulder to cry on so *give* him one!_ He shifted to sit next to the younger man and gently started to rub his back. Mayuri stiffened initially but wound up sobbing even harder as a century's worth of pent-up grief spilled out of him. Jūshirō merely remained silent, continuing his soothing massage, until the worst of it was over and the younger man's breathing slowly but surely steadied itself. Eventually he emitted a soft curse and wiped up his face with a corner of a sheet. Dawn's first light had just begun to cast soft hues of pink and purple upon the room, creating a tragically beautiful air to the scene. Part of Jūshirō wished this moment, although bittersweet, would last forever, an eternity suspended amidst the bruised, dreamlike colors and the warmth of Mayuri's skin. _Oh man, no wonder Shunsui always calls me a hopeless romantic,_ he thought. _One night together and I'm pondering eternity with the guy!_ It was more than that, though… Mayuri had just given him something incredibly precious – his vulnerability – and in response, his heart was swelling almost to bursting point.

"Ugh, my nose," Mayuri rasped, dispelling the profound moment. He slipped away to the bathroom before Ukitake could even ask if he needed a tissue. After some loud nose blowing, he returned to the bed but only sat on the edge, his movements hesitant. "Before you ask, I don't want to talk about Kisuke anymore right now," he stated. "I'd probably just start bawling like a fucking infant again anyway."

"You weren't-"

"And that's enough of that!" he snapped. Spots of color had appeared on his cheeks. "On another note, when do you have to be back to your Division?"

"Not for a while," Jūshirō replied. "I told my Lieutenants noon."

"Good," said Mayuri, visibly relaxing, "because I wouldn't be to forgive you if you just up and left after putting me through all that… _bullshit_." He shot Ukitake a dour glare and sniffed.

Jūshirō found that it was his turn to blush – it was pretty amazing how quickly Mayuri was able to recover from crying his eyes out. "I wouldn't dream of it," he said softly.

Mayuri slid closer to him and playfully pushed him onto his back. "Excellent," he growled. "Now this time, please spare me anymore _interruptions_."

As the sunrise slowly bloomed through the window, from purple to hot pink to blazing, lava-bright orange, the two languidly made love. Whereas they'd been feverish, almost rabid for each other last night, this morning they took their time, looking and feeling much more like a _couple_ rather than two sex-starved fiends. And even if their relationship was still nameless, the bond between them was very real. Whether it passed the test of time or even beyond the sunrise was anyone's guess but it didn't really matter. They were in the moment – this serene, perfect moment – and the future could wait.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I had writer's block for such a long time before finally getting back to this. But when I did, I worked on it pretty obsessively. Like I know I might be the only one on earth who ships Mayuri and Ukitake but fuck, I really, _really_ ship them. And sorry about that last paragraph, I know it's cheesy as fuck, even after I tweaked it.


	6. Chapter 6

**WARNING:** Not much to warn for in here. Sorry about the length; it's quite the read. If you stick with it though, there is some smut! Also, if you're picking up here, I edited chapter 3 – I made Mayuri's interaction with Sui Feng less awful, for one. Since this is a WIP, I'll probably be making more edits here and there; I'll always make sure to let you guys know.

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Yoruichi, in her centuries of experience, had a mind full of certainties. She was certain about what she liked in life: warm, lazy naps on the sun-drenched roof of Urahara's shop, the way the bark of a cherry tree smelled when she sharpened her claws on it, the feel of a gentle breeze rustling through her fur. She _really_ liked being a cat; she knew this with such certainty, nothing short of a dire emergency could convince her to change back into her true form. She hadn't done so in fifty years and she wouldn't mind if another fifty of the same awaited her. She was equally certain about what she disliked: any and all conflict. While she did miss the adrenaline rush of fighting, she'd always preferred sparring to the real thing. Despite her fiery personality, she also loathed verbal confrontations, perhaps even more than exchanging physical blows. Fleeing to the world of the living had put an immense strain on her friendship with Kisuke, waning her tolerance for arguments – before they'd settled here in Karakura Town, they'd been paranoid and miserable, drifting from town to town, afraid to settle anywhere in fear of attracting suspicion from the locals. Humans were more difficult to emulate than she ever would've imagined. Due to their short lifespans, they were extremely fickle; fashions, speech patterns, even whole belief systems changed within mere decades! Even Karakura Town was almost unrecognizable from when they'd first moved in. The only boon to this was that humans also had incredibly short attention spans, bolstered by the recent surge of technology. The entertainment industry had turned everyone inward – into their homes, their televisions, their computers. Even outside, they existed in their own little bubbles, relatively oblivious to the world around them. No one noticed Kisuke and company anymore and when they did, they just shrugged off their strangeness as some new trend. They'd sure as hell earned this peaceful life, though. It seemed like only yesterday that they'd been stretched thin to the point of breaking, worried that if the humans didn't find them out, the Shinigami inevitably would.

During those trying times, they'd briefly sought comfort in each other's arms but unfortunately, it had only made everything worse. She'd discovered a side to Kisuke she'd never known existed – an ugly, cruel side. There was something hungry in him that made her fur bristle even now and when it had manifested itself in a brutally painful bite on her leg, she'd yowled just like an angry cat and kicked him dead in the face. That had been fifty years ago, the same time she'd decided to stay permanently in her feline form. No amount of threats, begging, or apologies from Kisuke had made her change her mind – conversely, she'd threatened to leave his side completely if he didn't drop it. Common sense had taken him over at that point and he'd obeyed her demand, valuing her friendship too much to risk ending it. Their brief romance remained nothing but a memory although it still put a bad taste in her mouth when she thought about it. She'd always known that a man with his level of intelligence would have many layers but finding out he was a closet sadist had still come as a surprise. It made her wonder… if she'd tolerated that first bite, would he have mangled her as much as he'd done to Mayuri Kurotsuchi? The thought made her feel cold, even through the warmth of the sun-dappled rooftop.

Being a cat had countless advantages: she was nimble, humans either ignored her or gave her much-appreciated scratches, and most of all, she was all but invisible, even to Kisuke. Yes, sometimes even the man who thought a thousand steps ahead forgot to account for her. This is exactly what had happened when Mayuri had first walked into the shop roughly three months prior. She'd been mostly absent for years before then, only stopping by for an obligatory check-in once in a while, so her presence had been doubly unaccounted for when he'd piqued her interest and she'd decided to do some spying. People didn't often notice her in the first place so when she was trying to be sneaky, she just wasn't seen, period. She'd been invisible during the entire affair and _holy hell_, she'd seen more than she'd bargained for. What had begun as mere curiosity had quickly unfolded into blood-curdling horror yet, just like a cat, she'd been too curious to leave it alone. Catching Mayuri's unmistakable influx of reiatsu every time he entered the World of the Living, she would lurk behind him in the shadows and watch, wide-eyed, as Kisuke committed atrocity after atrocity. And to think, just one bite had been more than enough for her!

Even though her opinion of Mayuri was tepid at best, she'd found it incredibly difficult not to step in all that time. She'd considered him to be elitist and uptight when Kisuke had introduced him into the Gotei 13, two qualities that she doubted anyone really appreciated, let alone her. Although she'd gained a certain amount of sympathy upon learning about his past, it didn't pardon him from being so utterly insufferable. Mayuri's secretive history was something the man himself had forgotten (and she could see why) but to her, nothing mattered more than the present. Which was why, after two months of watching the poor bastard suffer, she'd finally intervened. Yes, he was an asshole. Yes, she'd disliked him in the past. But this was now, and he didn't deserve this! It had also taken her those same two months to figure out exactly how to dispel Kisuke's charm so perhaps the sentiment was more than mere coincidence. Whatever the case, she'd been just in time. A few more days of starvation and Kisuke's plan would've been complete – the Captain of the Twelfth would perish of his own doing (the injuries Kisuke inflicted were non-lethal and so obviously sexual, they'd be dismissed as having any correlation) and just enough speculation would be circulating about Kisuke's presence in Karakura Town that maybe, just _maybe_, he could be given a re-trial and take back his old mantle. Sōsuke Aizen would then be within his grasp and the next thousand steps of the plan could begin to unfold. It was a smart plan, Yoruichi had to admit, and even though its chance of success was slim, it was more than they'd had since their escape. She'd be lying to herself if she said she hadn't considered just turning a blind eye and letting the genius do his work – Soul Society was an ache in her heart that time could never dull – but what made Kisuke any better than Aizen if he committed murder to achieve his goal? Even if he could live on with such a burden on his soul, she knew that she couldn't. If only she hadn't been so nosey!

Could've, would've, should've. Three pointless words. The fact was, she'd seen too much to turn back. Now here she was in the present, still feigning ignorance to Kisuke, who was growing increasingly worried about Mayuri's prolonged absence. The man obviously knew his plan had turned sour one way or another – a Captain's death was big news and they would've overheard something by now if that was the case. Yoruichi was worried, too. She didn't think Kisuke would try to kill her for thwarting his plans but it was very likely that he'd end their friendship. Even though Kisuke was a real fucker, she wouldn't be able to bear it. Not here in the Human World where she could count her friends on one paw, not after all they'd been through together, not ever. With this weighing heavily on her mind, she could only hope that when Mayuri regained his memories in full (he was a man of science, he'd figure it out), he'd keep his promise and not tell Kisuke she'd helped him.

_Ah, more pointless words,_ she thought. _There's no sense in worrying… it just makes me tired._ She yawned and drifted back into a warm, dreamless sleep.

X X X

"Hmm, something about this situation feels familiar," Shunsui chuckled. "I have a strong feeling I know what this is about." Once again, he was sitting in his favorite garden, holding a cup of delicious sake while his dearest friend bowed low before him. The only difference was the cherry blossoms, which had mostly fallen to the ground at this point, blanketing the grass in fragrant, pastel-pink snow.

"Forgive me, Shunsui," pleaded Jūshirō. "I know you dislike speaking of Mayuri but I'm at my wit's end! I beg of you, please hear me out!" The man's eyes were clamped shut and he was wincing as if he expected Shunsui to randomly slap him. Considering how much the latter abhorred this overly apologetic behavior, the slap wouldn't exactly be random.

"Just… come on, Jūshirō, _please_ sit down," Shunsui grumbled. "You make me _so_ uncomfortable when you do that."

Jūshirō obediently sat and opened his mouth to apologize for apologizing but shut it when Shunsui raised an eyebrow in warning. A blush heating his face, he instead grabbed the bottle of sake and took a big chug. Just like last time. Being friends for this many centuries often felt like being stuck in a time loop – some things were bound to repeat themselves.

"Alright, so what ails you?" asked Shunsui once the sake had taken its calming effect on his friend.

"Well, like I said, it's Mayuri," Jūshirō began. "We, uh… met up a week ago and everything went great! Thing is, I might've ended up pushing him away and I don't know what to do."

Shunsui cringed, blinking away the mental imagery that came with the words 'met up'. "I need details," he sighed, "but please spare me the more _graphic_ ones."

"I know you won't judge me so I'll just say it – we spent the night at Shinigami Suites," confessed Jūshirō. "He insisted we keep it strictly casual so it was the first place that popped into my mind. Anyway, I was expecting him to leave the second he woke up in the morning but he stuck around. When I finally awoke, he was sitting in a chair, deep in thought. He… and I know this sounds sappy… he just looked _lost_, and afraid. It was only for a split second before he noticed I'd woken up but Shunsui, that look pierced my damn heart!"

_Uh-oh, he's using mild expletives,_ mused Shunsui. _He must be pretty riled up._

Jūshirō's hands were gripping the sake bottle tightly. "I had promised not to pry into his personal life – he was very clear about that – but after seeing that expression on his face, all the questions came bubbling back up to the surface, even stronger than before! So, when he came back to bed and started flirting, which was…" he sighed and briefly dropped his gaze to his wrist, "…. _extremely_ tempting, I decided it was time instead to be an intrusive jerk and ask him who'd hurt him."

Even though Shunsui's opinion of Mayuri was abysmally sour, he couldn't help but feel some curiosity. What if, after all these years, it actually _was_ Kisuke? He was a sucker for drama. "Well?" he asked. "Don't leave me hanging."

"Oh drat, I promised not to tell anyone," Jūshirō said sheepishly. "I've already broken enough promises with him so I have to keep this one."

"Is it Kisuke?"

"Don't. Just don't."

"Oh, fine. I'll just pretend it's Kisuke and make do."

"Whatever makes you happy. But yes, he told me, even though it was hard for him. After that, we… uh… hmm, I'll just skip ahead. I really wish you were at least bi-curious sometimes so I could tell you these things! Anyway, a few hours later, we parted ways. He didn't say anything nasty but after he got dressed, he completely iced over. He wouldn't let me give him a kiss goodbye, didn't even respond when I asked him when he wanted to meet next. He just gave me a really blank stare and flash-stepped away!" Jūshirō shrugged and sighed heavily. "That was a week ago," he said. "I've tried reaching him since and only got a hold of him once by using a Hell Butterfly."

"Oh?" said Shunsui, hiding a grin. "What did he say?"

The blush that had been clinging to Jūshirō's cheeks throughout the recant deepened. "He asked me what was going on and when I said I was just wondering how he was doing, he snapped at me for misuse of an official communication line and ended the transmission." He shook his head. "The guy's way younger than me but he managed to make me feel like a scolded child," he muttered.

Shunsui finally let out a bark of laughter; he just couldn't help it. Met with Jūshirō's less-than-pleased glare, he emitted a few more snorts then composed himself. "I'm sorry," he said. "Really, I am. I've just got to say this – did you really expect him to be nice? I'm not even sure he feels empathy!"

"Hey, that's a mean thing to say," Jūshirō grumped. "If I wanted snide comments, I would've gone to the Eleventh for advice."

"Well actually, it wouldn't be a bad idea to talk to Yumichika," pondered Shunsui. "After all, he's-"

"Don't."

"Gay."

Jūshirō sighed yet again and rolled his eyes. "I'm trying to keep this private," he said, "and although Yumichika is a great guy and all, him being gay does not automatically give his advice some stamp of quality. I'm not big on gossip but I've never heard of him keeping a partner longer than one night. In case you weren't listening, that's exactly what I'm trying to avoid!"

"Okay, okay," Shunsui relented. "For crying out loud, it was just a suggestion!" He downed the rest of the sake in his cup and motioned for a refill, which Jūshirō automatically obliged. In all fairness, he really wasn't feeling up for all of this. He'd had a shitty week, full of its own drama, and finding room for even more was giving him a headache. Although they were around the same age, he always wound up playing the role of the big brother when it came to affairs of the heart. He didn't know why it was that way between them – his own romantic life wasn't any better than Jūshirō's – but he'd been in this role too long to suddenly step down from it, especially now. "Okay, here's my advice," he finally said, after taking a few more sips. "Drop the whole thing."

"Shunsui, I-" stammered Jūshirō.

"No, you asked and you're going to listen," Shunsui snapped, not angrily but with an authoritative firmness. "I've never held back my opinions from you and I'm not sure as hell not going to start now! Without mincing my words, I think Mayuri is an abusive _prick_ – to Nemu, to his entire squadron, even to the other Captains! Perhaps being on the other end of the abuse recently has put him in a vulnerable mood but believe me when I say it's only temporary. You saw him with his walls down not once but twice and, to your credit, you're probably the only person who's managed to do as much… but he's just going to put them back up. Mayuri's world has room for one person – himself – and if you keep trying to intrude upon it, you're going to find that out the hard way. You need to take the cues he's giving you and back off… because if he hurts you, I'll have to take matters into my own hands and-"

Jūshirō promptly rose to his feet. "Alright, I've heard enough," he said tersely. "Clearly, you've forgotten what the word 'advice' means because all I heard was more insults, toward both of us! You say Mayuri has no empathy but you're making absolutely no effort to put yourself in his shoes! How would _you_ feel if you'd been the victim of abuse? Angry, perhaps? Bitter? Would you distance yourself from other people in fear of being hurt again? Maybe, just maybe, Mayuri's handling it exactly how anyone else would! Is it really that hard to believe that he's a _person_, with the full range of emotions that people feel? Honestly, I'd be more disturbed if he was outwardly kind! That would indicate that he was in denial, wouldn't you think? I mean _fuck_, you're the one who actually saw the abuse all those years ago; I'd think you'd be the _most_ understanding!"

_Oh, an actual curse,_ Shunsui thought, bristling. He rose to his feet as well, so he could at least take the verbal beating at eye level.

"And don't presume that I'm not capable of handling myself," Jūshirō heatedly continued. "If things ever got physical between me and Mayuri, I wouldn't just swoon like some damsel in distress! I know that you're just being a concerned friend but there's a fine line between sounding as such and coming off as condescending. I know, better than you, better than _anyone_, my own limitations. If I thought my illness weakened me so much as to make me a liability, I'd step down here and now! You _know_ this, Shunsui! Yet you still act like an _ignorant ass!_" He took a few deep breaths to calm himself when he'd finished although his hands were shaking slightly.

Shunsui rolled his eyes and downed his sake, tossing the cup aside when he was done. "Okay, you've said your piece," he sighed. "And I'm taking my leave. Next time you feel this way, find a _punching bag_ instead of a friend." He flash-stepped away before Jūshirō could respond, not stopping until he was comfortably within his own quarters. If you've got nothing nice to say, don't say anything at all – that phrase applied to both of them right now. He felt like the two of them were looking at completely different things when they viewed Mayuri. He saw a monster, Jūshirō saw a man. There was no middle ground, no visible path toward a mutual understanding. Furthermore, suffering abuse didn't necessarily make someone a better person – usually, it did the opposite. Victims of abuse occasionally even wound up becoming abusers themselves, which had obviously happened with Mayuri. The bastard was more of a loose cannon than Zaraki! And as far as Jūshirō went, he could call himself 'capable' until he ran out of breath but the point became moot the second the illness flared. The last time it had happened, he'd lost his Lieutenant, Kaien Shiba, in a misfortune that easily could've been avoided. What else would he have to lose before he learned to be more careful? His own life? Shunsui shuddered at the thought.

One thing was obvious – Jūshirō had been venting, not seeking advice. Shunsui found himself wishing he actually _had_ slapped his friend when he'd been bowing - maybe it would've slapped some sense into that stubborn head of his.

X X X

"No, I said dark blue, not black! That just looks like some hellish ichor!" Mayuri wrinkled his nose with disdain and poured the sample into the trash. "Do it again. _Correctly_. I have no time to teach you the _color wheel_." With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the forlorn squad member and flopped back in his chair once they were out of sight. He was _tired_, so tired that even the stimulants he used to stay alert for long periods of time were beginning to feel like decaf. Amongst the piles and piles of experiments he was overseeing, Yamamoto's goddamned stamina potion was still giving him hell. He'd finally succeeded in creating the desired effects, resulting in a joyous 'eureka' moment that the whole Division had felt, but the Captain Commander's reaction had put the cork right back in the proverbial champagne.

"It looks like blood," the old fart had griped.

"Red is the color most associated with strength and vigor," Mayuri had countered, hiding the fact that the comment had blindsided him. "It's fitting, in my humble opinion." Truthfully, he hadn't even thought about the color. The potion worked! What else mattered?!

"I'll not have the Gotei 13 choking down a substance that looks like blood and tastes even worse," Yamamoto proclaimed. "Throw in some flavoring and change the color to blue."

"Blue?! That's-"

"Impossible? A pain in the ass? Whatever your excuse, I'll have none of it! It's your job to achieve the impossible, regardless of whether it's a pain in the ass. So do it. _Correctly_."

So here he was, snarling inwardly at the sheer stupidity of the demand – the potion's natural color was bright fucking red! – and trying to manage the fact that he hadn't slept a wink since his night at Shinigami Suites. His eyes felt absolutely raw and there were rings around them almost as black as his paint. His stomach was twisted into a tiny, angry knot after churning on nothing but its own acid for a week. He was ferociously hungry but nauseous at the same time and the idea of sustenance seemed almost ludicrous at this point. Furthermore, his temper had devolved to little more than thinly veiled insanity. Even the most stable of minds began to crumble after enough sleep deprivation and his was _far_ from stable. Making himself form coherent sentences was becoming increasingly difficult; he wanted to just start screaming like the raving lunatic he was.

Perhaps it was time to get some rest. Even though it was even busier around here than usual, the place wasn't going to crumble if he allowed himself a few hours of shuteye. Nemu was obviously more than competent, Akon ran the labs almost as well as Mayuri himself, and none of his squad were dimwits. They all had their tasks laid out before them; perhaps his absence would even speed along their progress. He was unnerving on a good day, nearly paralyzing on a bad one. Yes, rest was a very good idea.

But it also wasn't.

He and Nemu had done an impeccable job rewiring his brain and his memories were returning with increasing frequency. He was now experiencing them on a daily basis, sometimes more… and they were _not_ pleasant. In fact, he almost felt a nostalgic fondness for the memory he'd had at Shinigami Suites, as it was by far the tamest of the lot. The past months were like some eldritch horror as they unfurled, becoming more unspeakable, more _abominable_ as they fleshed out from the shadows. Mayuri was genuinely concerned that when he realized it in full, the knowledge would drive him mad. Hell, he was already handling it so poorly it was laughable. His subordinates looked like they were walking the plank every time they approached him, his office was in shambles, and his health was declining so rapidly, he knew he'd wake up in the Fourth again if he didn't do something about it soon. Possibly even the Maggot's Nest, considering Yamamoto's threat. Despite Unohana's assurance that Mayuri had made a full recovery, he was still weak, and he wasn't doing himself any favors by refusing to eat or drink. This lapse in common sense was hard to justify, even to himself, but there was a reason behind it – regaining the lost memories was causing him to fall back into some of the same patterns that had plagued him. The charm had been so severe, so effective, that he'd _wanted_ to disappear… and even though he was no longer under its influence, he had the feel of it in him now, becoming stronger with every new recollection. So there was that. There was also the straight up nausea he felt toward the whole situation. Thinking about what Kisuke had done to him simply made him want to vomit… and he thought about it a _lot_. He was especially afraid to sleep because he knew – he _knew!_ – he'd just have more memories, amplified by the intensity of his dreams. As was common with geniuses, he'd always had vivid dreams. Many of them had plots thicker than novels and visually, they were absolutely stunning. He'd seen things too awesome to describe with mere words, too complex to paint or sculpt. Conversely, he had some _lurid_ fucking nightmares. He always awoke from those either sobbing or screaming, plastered in sweat, and wouldn't be able to claw himself back to reality for a couple of minutes. It was obvious what form his memories would take. He wasn't daft – he knew dreams couldn't hurt him – but it had been far too easy lately to avoid sleep. He'd been burying his fear beneath his heaping piles of work, doing his very best to hold himself together, but sometimes his best just wasn't good enough. He was crumbling, and fast. Even the fact that he'd done a full sweep of the Twelfth for Kisuke's potential spying devices – and had turned up nothing – offered no consolation. It just made him feel even crazier, if anything.

A rap on his office door pulled him from his reverie. It was Nemu's knock, which was a devious little piece of genius in itself. They'd devised a simple code for knocking; without seeming suspect, the number and frequency of the knocks relayed a number of pragmatic messages. For example, this one – two quick knocks, a brief pause, one slightly heavier knock – meant there was someone here to see him, a Captain. Quite ingenious. That didn't change the fact that there was a fucking Captain here, though. A determined Captain no less; everyone was under strict orders to keep outsiders at bay. And sneaky to boot; their reiatsu was impeccably cloaked. Mayuri sighed, glared despondently at his messy office, and barked his permission to enter. Nemu appeared long enough to give an apologetic bow then made way for the Captain, who strode in and politely thanked her for her time before closing the door between them. Mayuri's carefully composed expression shattered into a fierce, toothy snarl. "Captain Ukitake," he grated tersely. "Whatever is the matter? Surely there must be a _dire emergency_ underway to justify your presence here." He crossed his arms, a shitty sneer on his lips.

"I didn't come here to play games," Ukitake snapped. His voice, although low, stung like a whip. "Drop the formalities and tell me why you've been ignoring me all week! I'm in a foul mood so I'm warning you - _don't_ make it any worse."

Instead of becoming angered by the brash threat, Mayuri found himself blushing under his paint. This version of Jūshirō was a polar opposite from what he'd seen in the past. Gone was the fumbling, apologetic dolt, replaced by a confidant, demanding presence that took what he wanted and bowed to no one! _Maybe he'll take me here and now,_ mused Mayuri, biting his lip. _He's so angry, maybe he'll even choke me a little. Or a lot._ He cleared his throat to ground himself and pondered what the man had actually said. "Oh, I'm ignoring you because I'm a fucking wreck," he blandly confessed, gesturing briefly at the ruinous office around them. "If we were communicating remotely, I'd say I was just too busy – and reprimand you again – but here you are in the flesh, bearing witness to reality." He shook his head and laughed dryly. "My squad just thinks I'm having a conniption fit," he chuckled, "but I obviously didn't tell them what I told you."

Jūshirō's manly demeanor finally faltered as he processed Mayuri's words. "I appreciate your honesty but I'll admit, you caught me off guard," he said with a sheepish shrug. "I was expecting… well, I don't rightly know. A fight, perhaps?"

"I'm too tired for a fight," Mayuri muttered. "And you might be a dolt sometimes but I know you're not _stupid_. You probably put the pieces together the second you walked in, did you not?"

"Hmm." Jūshirō shrugged again and nodded slightly in assent. His deep green gaze was flitting about the office, analyzing every disheveled detail as if they were all clues to some profound puzzle. Mayuri realized that he'd never had Jūshirō in his office and vice versa – if he'd been here before, it would've been over a century ago. Really, he knew next to nothing about the man outside of common knowledge… other than his prowess in the sack. He found himself soured by the fact – he'd admonished himself a thousand times over for blurting out Kisuke's name at Shinigami Suites and felt further ashamed that he'd blurted it to, in essence, a total stranger.

"Well, are you just going to stand there gaping?" he growled. "I'm assuming there's more purpose to your visit than just confirming that I'm a miserable lunatic."

"Actually, there is," replied Jūshirō, undaunted by the hostility. "I was going to ask you out to dinner-"

"No."

"-But after seeing the state you're in, how about you come over to my place and let me cook for you?" He held up his hands when Mayuri narrowed his eyes. "I have an apartment in Rukongai that I use as a getaway," he explained. "You won't have to worry about privacy, I promise. And believe it or not, I'm a pretty good cook."

Mayuri glared intensely at Jūshirō for another long moment before sitting back in his chair and chuckling. The chuckle turned into a snicker and before he could stop it, he was howling with laughter. Jūshirō's shocked expression only made everything funnier – by the time he'd remotely composed himself, there were tears running down his face and a stitch in his side. "Oh, fuck," he wheezed between pants. "Ah, hang on… oh, _fuck_."

"I don't know what-"

"Ah, please don't talk for a second, I'm trying," he gasped, "_trying_ to stop." He removed his hat and ran his fingers through his hair, taking deep, controlled breaths. Finally, eyes still dancing with mirth, he looked back up at Jūshirō, who looked absolutely mortified. "I'm sorry," he breathed. "Really, I am. You're just… and I'm… and you asked me on a fucking _date?!_"

"You're making very little sense," Jūshirō muttered.

"Jūshirō, I've calculated that I'm roughly two hundred fifty years old," Mayuri said hoarsely, "and outside of one-night stands, I've _never_ been asked on a date."

Jūshirō opened his mouth only to shut it and work his jaw. "Hey, you initially said 'no'," he finally pointed out. "In fact, you still haven't said yes."

Mayuri clamped a hand over his mouth to stifle another burst of laughter. "Ah shit, you're killing me," he snickered. "Okay, what the hell. Uh, I do. Is that what I say?"

"That's a marriage vow," Jūshirō sighed although a tiny smirk curved his lips.

"I know, I know," Mayuri chuckled. "Luckily I'm not _that_ obtuse when it comes to romance." All things considered, galivanting off to Rukongai with Ukitake probably wasn't the best idea but it was _far_ too rare of an opportunity to pass up. For all he knew, it would be the first and last date he ever went on! He rose from his seat and stretched, glancing out his window. It was late afternoon, approaching sunset. Everyone in his squadron was finishing up their day, probably starting to babble amongst themselves about what they were going to eat for dinner. For the first time in far too long, he found himself wondering the same, eager for whatever it was. Well, he was eager for more than just dinner. He sauntered over to Jūshirō, a lopsided grin still lingering on his face, and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. Or rather, it _would've_ been quick – Jūshirō grabbed his waist and held him in place, returning the kiss with a quiet moan, then his tongue, until their faces were pressed together and they were gripping each other tightly. When their lips finally parted, Jūshirō's eyes were half-lidded yet bright and his pale skin was deliciously flushed – he bit his lip and ground his hips ever so slightly against Mayuri, just enough for the younger man to feel his hard cock through the fabric of their uniforms. Mayuri grinned and ground back, wondering what position Jūshirō would bend him into first, but he coyly pulled away before things sailed past the point of no return. "Not here," he chided softly. "Even though it's tempting."

It was Ukitake's turn to laugh. "Sorry about that," he mused. "I got carried away."

Mayuri uttered a 'hmph' and walked about the office, gathering up his things. He took his time, since wearing Ashisogi Jizō was extremely uncomfortable with an erection. Once they were both cooled off enough to pass as presentable, they made their way out of the Twelfth. First, he stopped by the laboratory in charge of changing Yamamoto's potion color and told the miserable squad members there to call it a day. Their relief was palpable. He then found Nemu and told her he'd be back tomorrow, knowing she wouldn't press him for details, and rolled his eyes when Jūshirō thanked her yet again for her assistance earlier. He understood the necessity for courtesy as well as anyone but didn't comprehend going out of one's way to display it excessively. Nemu was equally baffled, although only Mayuri caught the cue. Most people thought she was about as lively as a robot but that wasn't true at all. She was just _very_ discreet in showing emotion. For example, she'd just blinked a few times at Jūshirō. That was her equivalent of hanging her mouth open and saying _what the fuck?_

It was a beautiful evening; the sky was full of big, puffy cumulous clouds that turned into pink cotton candy as the sun set. Mayuri hated the phrase 'some fresh air will do you some good,' as he'd heard it countless times during his indoor-centric life, but he knew there was an iota of truth in it. Out here, his problems just seemed smaller, like they could float away with the clouds. He also enjoyed leaving the Seireitei for once. Discounting missions (and his visits to Urahara's shop,) he hadn't left the Seireitei more than a handful of times in the past few years. He was always too busy for such frivolities. His rigorous schedule occasionally made him wonder where he'd be in life if the Maggot's Nest and, consequently, the Gotei 13 hadn't flung him into his current position. Would he be a wealthy entrepreneur with loads of time and money on his hands? He thought it unlikely. He had a feeling he would've wound up in Yamamoto's service regardless; the mixture of adrenaline-pumping combat and scientific research suited his needs perfectly, even if it didn't leave time for many vacations.

He trailed along passively as Jūshirō stopped by a street-side market and picked up a few ingredients for dinner, then led them up a winding road that became less and less cluttered with houses until each property had a fair amount of lawn. It was beautiful here – the houses themselves were small and quaint, built in a traditional architecture that suggested they'd been standing for many years, and the lawns were lovingly tended, full of flowers and vegetable gardens. Even the trees looked tended; they were neither sparse nor cluttered and of a pleasant variety, ranging from Japanese maple to yew to cherry. To top it off, the sunset bathed the scene in a warm hue, making Mayuri feel as though he was looking at a sentimental old photograph, tinged sepia with time. He knew that many Captains and even a few Lieutenants had their own private getaways scattered throughout Rukongai; seeing how pretty Jūshirō's little neighborhood was almost made him wish he'd invested in a property himself. The thought circled back around to the same fact, though. He was just too busy. The place would fall to neglect.

"Here we are," Jūshirō announced, turning up a cobblestone path.

"Hmm," said Mayuri. "I'm pleasantly surprised by your taste." Jūshirō's 'apartment' (it was an entire house, albeit small,) managed to fit into the definitions of both cozy and quaint without leaking over into cutesy. It was old like the others, weathered but not derelict, partially covered with purple-flowering vines. The yard was well-kept, lacking a vegetable garden but still sporting a good collection of medicinal herbs. "Don't let this go to your head but I'm actually impressed," he added flippantly.

"Oh, I won't," laughed Jūshirō, somehow managing to fumble open the door with his armload of groceries before Mayuri had time to offer help. They walked into a small hallway for removing their shoes, leading up into an open kitchen slash living room. Although many people would find it to be cramped, most Shinigami were used to living quarters less than half this size. Mayuri's own quarters were definitely smaller and more spartan than these accommodations. Jūshirō even had a couch! What luxury! "So?" Ukitake asked. "Still impressed? I'm afraid I couldn't afford somewhere bigger… I'm still supporting my family."

Mayuri shrugged off his hat, haori and Zanpakutō then fell lengthwise onto the couch. It was sinfully soft. "Of course I am," he said testily, "but ask me again and my opinion may lower. I loathe redundancy."

"You seem to loathe a lot of things," Jūshirō noted, carefully setting the groceries on the kitchen counter.

"Not true," countered Mayuri. "I'm opiniated, yes, but that only means that I feel strongly about things. Not that I just automatically _hate_ everything. That would be exhausting."

"Yeah, I suppose it would be," Jūshirō mused. "To be fair though, you _do_ look exhausted. When's the last time you slept?"

Mayuri narrowed his eyes suspiciously. The last thing he wanted was some lecture about self-care. "When's that any of your business?" he scoffed. "The fact that I'm lying on a couch doesn't mean you're suddenly my _therapist_."

"Geez, it was just a question," Jūshirō retorted, exasperated. "And I don't recall making you lie down, either!"

Mayuri wondered if it was rude to just sprawl out on someone else's furniture without permission before deciding that it probably was… and also that he didn't give a shit. "Hey, you never told me why you were in such a bad mood earlier," he said, ushering the topic away from his own problems.

"Oh." Ukitake sighed and slumped his shoulders. "I got into it with Shunsui right before I went to see you. He was just trying to be helpful but I wound up losing my cool and going off on him. I really owe him an apology…"

"Hmph. I doubt that." Mayuri stifled a yawn but to no avail; it just came out even louder. "Kyōraku's lazy yet condescending at best, absolutely insufferable the rest of the time. It's a testament to your patience that you're able to bear his company as often as you do."

Surprisingly, Jūshirō looked pleased with the condemnation, if only for a moment. "He has many good qualities," he finally replied, "and I was definitely out of line. I can be somewhat passive-aggressive."

"Oh, really?" Mayuri drawled. "And here I was, thinking it was all sunshine and rainbows with you…"

Jūshirō laughed and shook his head. "I wish," he said. He organized the groceries on the counter – a plethora of fresh vegetables and two trout – then stopped and shook his head again. "Damnit, how rude of me," he grumbled. "Mayuri, do you want something to drink? I have sake, tea, coffee…"

Mayuri heaved himself to a sitting position, feeling much heavier than he actually was. "Coffee," he muttered. "Strong." He would've gladly taken sake if he knew it wouldn't knock him out after one sip. He eyed Ukitake's pile of produce. "Want help?" he asked. "I'm very proficient with a knife, although it's usually a _scalpel_ I'm holding." If he stayed on this couch much longer, he was going to fall asleep and that _would_ be too rude, even for him.

"You know, I really wouldn't care if you took a nap," Ukitake said. "Whether you'll admit it or not, I can tell you're tired."

Mayuri sprung off the couch with a vigor he didn't possess and strode purposefully into the kitchen. "I'll have none of it," he hissed. "I've cut down _Hollows_ with less energy; I can certainly cut a few vegetables." He found a knife and cutting board, clicking his tongue with disdain when Jūshirō tried to fuss about and clear a spot for him. "Sliced? Diced? Minced?" he pressed.

"Well, I was just going to make a stir fry so however you want them, I guess…"

Mayuri snorted and rolled his eyes. _How does he oversee an entire Division when he can't even give me one simple command,_ he wondered. However, he kept his mouth shut and began chopping. Meanwhile, Jūshirō made coffee and went about preparing the rest of the meal, which was to be rice and, obviously, trout. They worked mostly in silence, broken only by a few comments here and there regarding the task at hand, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Far from it – Mayuri, although verbose at times, preferred situations that didn't require a lot of tongue wagging. Even though his age was somewhat 'young' in Shinigami years, it was still two and a half centuries, far too long a span of time to be bothered by social awkwardness. It was obvious that Ukitake felt the same way, as the man easily let conversation ebb and flow at a natural pace, rather than stuff it with vapid filler. Some Captains weren't so evolved – Toshiro, although genius, wasn't old enough to understand the nuances of social interaction, and bitchy little Suì-Fēng just started babbling under pressure like someone had pressed a fast-forward button on her. Mayuri wished the woman had a stop button or even better, a self-destruct. Mayuri had a theory that Yoruichi had left almost solely to get away from her. Suì-Fēng was lucky – if someone stalked _him_ and tried to photograph him nude, they'd be limping away without their genitalia.

Dinner came together without a hitch – with their combined efforts, the final product looked fit to serve in a high-end restaurant. It tasted just as good as it looked, too. Even though Jūshirō seemed like the kind of guy who'd catch on fire just from glancing at a habanero, he was audacious with spice, adding just enough heat to make Mayuri feel alive. They dined in the back yard, where there was a small patio, and the view was stunning. Mayuri had been well aware they were high up, as the walk here had been steeply uphill, but his line of sight had been blocked by houses and trees. He'd had no idea they were on the edge of a cliff. Beyond Jūshirō's small back yard was a short stone wall that didn't look like it would prevent anyone from falling right over it and then… nothing. Rukongai stretched on forever below them, twinkling like a sea of glitter in the near-dark, and the vast spiritual barrier around the Seireitei glowed gently off to the east. Mayuri felt an inner stillness taking it all in, a much-needed sense of insignificance. It was easy to forget how small he really was in the grand scheme of things, his existence just a brief, tiny flash amidst the yawning infinity of the universe. When he finally turned his thoughts back to the tangible, he caught Jūshirō staring at him; rather than look away, the older man held his gaze and smiled softly.

"I can't imagine I'm more interesting than this view," Mayuri muttered. He swirled the sake around in his cup (he'd finally switched over after consuming enough coffee to kill a small child) and took a sip, one eyebrow raised.

"Oh but you are," Jūshirō mused. "I've never been more curious as to what someone was thinking than I am now."

"Well, I hate to disappoint you but I was merely enjoying the view," replied Mayuri. "You really got lucky finding this place."

"Believe it or not, it's the view that set this place within my price range," Jūshirō said. "Apparently, most people don't like worrying about falling to their death every time they tend their lawn."

Mayuri grinned. "Even I would've turned this place down back when Nemu was small," he admitted with a shrug. "She seemed to crawl to the edge of every surface she found. Same thing when she learned to walk… only _faster_."

Jūshirō chuckled, remembering Mayuri's early parenting days. It had certainly been an odd sight around the Seireitei but pleasant nonetheless. He adored kids and Nemu had been a little ray of sunshine around the otherwise solemn grounds. People could scowl and call Mayuri a shitty parent all day but Jūshirō knew a happy kid when he saw one. Nemu had been – and still was – bright, intuitive and confident, all attributes of being raised with love and attention. Sure, Mayuri may have been _extremely_ unconventional but he'd been by no means neglectful or abusive.

"Speaking of Nemu, I suppose I should get this out of the way," Mayuri said, his smile gone. Something in his tone made the hairs on the back of Jūshirō's neck raise with warning. "She would never ask me what put me in the Fourth – she knows me better than to try – but if we continue spending time together, she's going to ask you at some point. And she can be very persistent. She might even convince you that it'd be better if she knew. However, if she finds out, she'll try to take Urahara out herself and he will _kill_ her. Believe me, I know how her mind works. So… I know I sound redundant when I say this… but don't tell her, even if I'm fucking dying or something. Understand?"

Ukitake blinked a few times as he processed the unexpected information. Mayuri hadn't changed his posture but he suddenly looked dangerous, as if the wrong answer would spring him like a trap. "Yes, I understand completely," he quickly answered. "And you weren't being redundant; I hadn't even considered that she might ask me."

A weight even Atlas wouldn't shrug at was lifted as Mayuri visibly relaxed. "Yah, she comes off as timid these days but I know better," he said. "I may have taught her a little too much about the art of deception."

"She's quite the genius, just like her father," Jūshirō mused. He sighed and downed his sake, then topped off both their cups. Even though the tense moment had passed, the bitter subject of Kisuke was now hanging out in the open like a gaping wound. They'd both been trying their best to avoid it all evening; he was actually surprised they'd made it as far as they did. "How are you managing, anyway?" he asked. Whether he liked it or not, the question needed to be posed.

"As I told you earlier, poorly," Mayuri replied sourly. "I thought it was obvious." Then again, Jūshirō had never been in his office before. Without the memory of its usual impeccable neatness to compare it to, he supposed it didn't look nearly as shocking.

"You've clearly never been in Zaraki's office," Jūshirō laughed. "Yours looks like a lesson in organized living in comparison. But yeah, you did say as much already. Is it just the memory of it that's ailing you or are you worried about the future as well?"

"Both," Mayuri said flatly. He sniffed, slammed his cup of sake, and looked back out at the view. He wasn't suicidal but he had to admit, walking off that cliff would end his problems neatly. "I wasn't lying at the Captain's meeting when I said I had amnesia. My memories are returning, however, and every day I'm discovering another unpleasant detail about the events leading up to my hospitalization."

"I'm surprised you don't have a record of your activities somewhere," Jūshirō pointed out. "You seem like the thorough type."

Mayuri shot the man a surprised look; Jūshirō's comment had been remarkably perceptive, a stark contrast to his modest personality. Perhaps Nemu wasn't the only one who used the art of deception. "Indeed, I am," he replied. "I have the dates of my absences written in my schedule book, nothing more. I have a theory about that, though. I know for a fact that Kisuke cursed me – and a curse can mean many different things – but a typical failsafe is the inability to talk about the curse. I remember my mind becoming hazy just trying to think about its nature… so it seems likely that I was unable to record it. It would've been a pretty lousy curse if I'd been able to tell everyone I was under it, no?"

For a moment, Jūshirō's mouth formed a perfect 'o' of surprise. "I had no idea you'd been cursed," he said slowly. Suddenly, it all made sense. Even though Mayuri was covered in self-inflicted scars, he wasn't masochistic in the sense that he'd seek out punishment of the caliber Kisuke had been dealing. Jūshirō had thought that perhaps the man had been blinded by love but even that hadn't sounded right. A curse, though? It explained everything. "May I ask… what was the nature of the curse?" he queried. He knew he was treading on dangerous ground but he felt like he had to know more if he was going to be of any help.

"You saw my wounds," Mayuri growled. "Take a wild guess."

"A… _sexual_ curse?" Jūshirō fumbled.

Mayuri laughed dryly. "There's a word for that," he goaded. "It's called a charm."

"Damnit, I knew that." Jūshirō blushed. "I think the sake is finally getting to me," he admitted. Nevertheless, he topped off their cups yet again, already resigning himself to a wretched hangover in the morning. "So this charm… what do you think the point of it was? Surely Kisuke's intentions were darker than a little game of S&M. I mean, you'd obviously stopped eating… was that part of his influence?"

Mayuri growled a curse and shifted uncomfortably. "Man, you're persistent," he griped. "Yes, it was. Suì-Fēng would have everyone believe I'm merely going through _body issues_ but believe it or not, I'm quite happy with my appearance. No, I'm delving back into mere theory here but I'm pretty sure he wanted me dead. Making me starve myself was just the easiest way he could do it without implicating himself. It wouldn't be so far-fetched in most people's minds to assume I'd finally lost what few marbles I possess and did myself in. The embarrassing nature of my wounds would probably only speed along that conclusion, as they heavily suggest I'm just an insane masochist." He smirked and ran his fingers through his hair. "Not saying I don't enjoy playing a bit rough," he said silkily, "but to that degree? Even I have a limit."

A shiver ran down Jūshirō's spine – he couldn't wait to test those limits later tonight – but he held himself in check. "Look, I'm sorry for prying so much," he said. "I'm just trying to get a grasp on what's going on so I can help you."

"I know," Mayuri replied tersely. "That's why I'm telling you." He glared at his cup of sake then slammed it in one gulp. "Don't get the wrong idea… I don't want your _help_ per say. I'd be absolutely livid if you tried to be a knight in shining armor and confront Kisuke. For fuck's sake, we barely even know each other! That would be absurd. No, I guess I just want you to listen. And think." He drummed his fingers on the table as his mind churned. "I just need a perspective that isn't skewed. You don't need to be versed on the scientific method to understand where I'm coming from."

"Yah, I get it," Jūshirō said softly. He reached across the table and took Mayuri's restlessly drumming hand in his. The younger man flinched and stiffened, as if physical contact was the last thing he'd been expecting, and his golden eyes were narrowed warily. "Do you want to hear my advice?" Ukitake asked.

"I haven't given you enough information-"

"My advice is to just _relax_ for tonight," he cut in. "Once again, I'm sorry I made you think about it. I can't imagine how hard it must be for you… I've never been through anything half as harrowing."

Mayuri huffed and looked away, embarrassed. "If we're being specific, I don't think anyone has," he muttered. "Unless Kisuke actually realized his dream and made himself a harem."

"Wait, what?"

Mayuri flashed a wry grin. "Oh yah, he told me all about it when I was locked up in the Maggot's Nest," he chuckled. "He wanted to kidnap and alter a bunch of women, make them into his pets. I was his test subject. That's how I got my gag reflex severed." With his free hand, he pointed at the vertical scar running down his neck. "That's also probably how I got such a powerful curse imbedded in my brain. I think he intended to use it on me back then but changed his mind when he decided to recruit me. I wouldn't have been much use as a scientist or a Shinigami if I was just _fawning_ over him all the time." He paused and bristled when he glanced back up at Jūshirō – the man looked like he wanted to punch something. "Fuck, sorry for rambling," he said testily.

"No, it's not you," Jūshirō grated. "Damnit, here I am telling you to relax when I'm getting all worked up myself! I don't know, I just feel _betrayed, _even more so than when he was convicted. He seemed like such a great guy! I took him under my wing, talked to him about everything under the sun, even gave him romantic advice! I told him a girl would be _lucky_ to have him!" He shook his head and gave Mayuri a look that was almost pleading. "I thought I was _good_ at reading people," he mourned. "Who's going to be next? _Aizen?!_"

"Well actually, I never trust anyone who doesn't show their dark side once in a while," Mayuri stated. "He's too much of a goody two shoes."

Jūshirō threw back his head and let out a harsh bark of laughter. "Oh, man," he breathed. "If that's the case, you must think I'm an absolute villain!"

"Hmm, the thought has crossed my mind," Mayuri purred. He turned Jūshirō's hand over in his and ran his fingernails lightly over his palm. "Ever read manga from the Human World? My Division is full of nerds so I've seen my fair share. One thing I noticed though is that almost all of the villains have white hair." He trailed his nails up to Jūshirō's wrist, causing the man to groan softly and bite his lip. "They're also devilishly handsome. Yes, the pieces are fitting together _perfectly_." Eyes glinting, he lifted Jūshirō's hand and placed a light kiss on his wrist, delighting in the responses he was eliciting. Ukitake's face was flushed and he looked high with pleasure; it was obvious his hands and wrists were an erogenous zone.

"Alright, you've found me out," Jūshirō managed to say. He tried to think of something to continue the charade but gave up when Mayuri kissed his wrist again, more deeply this time, and gave it a few quick, playful bites. The scientist then grinned – villainously, to boot – and hotly ran his tongue down his wrist, palm, and up over his fingers. Jūshirō had never had someone pay so much attention to his hands, especially not like _this_, and it was such a turn-on he could barely stand it. When Mayuri slid his forefinger into his mouth, his cock got hard so fast it almost ripped his hakama. He groaned and regarded Mayuri with heavy-lidded eyes, watching helplessly as the man all but performed fellatio on his finger. Jūshirō had half a mind to knock the table aside and drag the man over on his knees. Somehow, he restrained the urge, opting instead to roughly shove in a second finger and push them in as far he could go; he thrusted a few times, making clear his intent, before finally pulling out. Mayuri chuckled darkly and licked his lips, looking supremely smitten.

"Shall we take this inside?" he asked, his eyes dancing with sinister glee.

Jūshirō considered pouring some more sake but decided to just grab the whole bottle. "Yes, we shall," he replied, his voice soft with lust. When he rose from his chair, his erection was almost comically obvious. He then took Mayuri's hand and helped him stand, only to swiftly scoop him up in his arms. The younger man looked dazed for a moment before breaking out into laughter.

"Better not stumble," he warned, although he was laughing still. "We'd have a long fucking fall." He slung his arm around Jūshirō's shoulder, giving him a quick peck on the lips in the process.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Jūshirō stated gallantly. Nonetheless, he was extra careful as he made his way inside. It wasn't very difficult, even though he was pretty drunk; Mayuri was light as a feather. He made it all the way to the bedroom without losing his balance but his luck ended there – he barely managed to set the sake down before falling back onto the bed with a soft thud. Mayuri, who'd been laughing riotously this entire time, let out one last snort and straddled the older man's lap, a coy smirk on his lips.

"That was rather chivalrous," he chided as he began stripping from the waist up. "Perhaps you really _are_ a knight in shining armor."

"Oh, please," Jūshirō breathed, eagerly tearing off his own shirt. "I'm just impatient." Once they were both shirtless, he grabbed Mayuri's slim waist and planted several hot kisses along his chest and neck. The man had removed his mask earlier in the night but he was still wearing his paint. Jūshirō didn't mind one bit; he'd decided back at Shinigami Suites that he liked it just as much as his bare skin. It was so much a part of his appearance that it looked perfectly natural, as strange as that sounded. Then again, Mayuri was the definition of strange. Jūshirō moved his mouth up to the man's jawline then came to rest at his lips, where they picked up the passionate kiss they'd left at the office. Mayuri's hands roved over his back, lightly clawing his skin – the long nail on his middle finger was smooth yet somewhat sharp, leaving a tingling scratch in its wake that made Ukitake shiver as their tongues twined against each other. When they finally broke the kiss, they were both panting and flushed.

Mayuri was in no mood for a drawn out round of tender love-making; he was far too exhausted and flustered. He'd been putting on an excellent show of seeming sane and healthy this evening but as the night progressed, he could feel it beginning to slip from his grasp. Just like Cinderella as the clock approached midnight, he knew he had to make haste before he reverted into an utter lunatic. However, he had a rather delicious plan set to speed things along – he wanted to bring out his mate's inner villain. It was certainly in there somewhere… it just needed to be teased out of him, _literally_. He slid off Jūshirō's lap and knelt on the floor, batting the man's hands away as he tried to help untie his hakama. Jūshirō's cock, when he pulled it out, was rock hard and twitching with anticipation. He encircled the base with his hand, noticing with a pleased smirk that his thumb and middle finger couldn't even hope to meet around its girth, and began to slowly tease the head with his tongue. Ukitake moaned and bucked his hips in response, just as impatient as he'd admitted, but Mayuri merely continued his torture. He flicked the underside of the head with his tongue, ran his lips along the length, did everything except take it in his mouth until the man was panting curses – real ones rather than his usual 'darn' and 'dang' – and writhing under his ministrations. Finally, Jūshirō roughly grabbed him by the hair and jerked his head up, forcing their eyes to meet.

"Are you trying to make me go crazy?!" he hissed, his green eyes glowing feverishly.

Mayuri donned the most innocently baffled expression he could muster. "Whatever do you mean?" he asked. "I thought you were enjoying yourself." His hand slid up the shaft and back down to the base as he spoke.

"Well of course I am but-"

"But what?" chided Mayuri. "Am I going too _fast_? I'm sorry, I'll go a little easier on you." The grip on his hair had relaxed just enough to allow him to give the shaft a long, slow lick. Before Jūshirō could complain again, he took the swollen head in his mouth and sucked it, hard. The fingers in his hair flexed spasmodically and he felt the man shiver with excitement but after a moment, he merely pulled away and languidly resumed his teasing. Precum began to slowly leak from the tip; he had to restrain a groan as he licked it up, savoring the taste. He was incredibly aroused himself, making the torture almost as hard on him as it was on his victim. _Just a little longer,_ he thought. _He's bound to lose it any second now._ As he continued, it was all he could do not to start jerking himself off.

"God fucking damnit, Mayuri!" Jūshirō's voice was hoarse and broken, mirroring the absolutely crazed look on his face. "Just get on with it!"

Mayuri looked straight into Jūshirō's eyes and grinned fiercely. "_Make me,_" he said softly. It was spoken as a plea, not a taunt. The groan he'd been holding back finally escaped when Ukitake's hand knotted into a fist in his hair, pulling it painfully, and forced his head down. He barely had time to take a deep breath before the man's cock surged into his mouth; his jaw made an absurd cracking sound as it unhinged a little too quickly and when the tip rammed up against the entrance to his throat, he had to force himself to relax completely to make it fit. He didn't remember it being so difficult to take before – then again, he'd always done it at his own pace. Jūshirō relentlessly continued to push him down and by the time his lips met the base, his eyes were watering from the pain. It was a miracle his throat was still in one piece; he knew that if he lost his focus and clenched the muscles, it would tear in a heartbeat. Willpower was an amazing thing at times – as stupid as it sounded, he was positive he would've torn already if he didn't want this so bad. Hell, that's why he'd torn with Kisuke; even under the powerful influence of the charm, a small part of him had still resisted. He felt more than willing – a better description would be utterly fucking _ravenous_ – as the man began to thrust, so eager that the hand pulling his hair almost seemed redundant. He reached down to stroke his own cock-

-and froze when Jūshirō pulled out and slapped him across the face, _hard_. "Don't even think about it," Ukitake snapped, his voice lowered yet loud in its authority. "After that crap you pulled, you're not getting off until I _tell_ you to. Understand?" He waited for Mayuri to sputter a 'yes' before shoving his head back down. He started thrusting again, even harder than before, a knot of furious, boiling hot lust coiled tightly in his groin. He'd known exactly what Mayuri had been doing to him – the man's little spiel about villains hadn't exactly been cryptic – and he couldn't care less that he'd 'fallen' for it. Everyone viewed him as a passive, easygoing guy – perhaps even a dolt, as Mayuri would say – but they'd change their view in an instant if they knew how hard he worked to maintain that persona. Truthfully, he acted that way because it was his fucking _job_. As a senior Captain, it was his duty not only to set an example by his actions but to exude an aura of peace and positivity. The Gotei 13 didn't have a counselor or anything even close; no, that role fell almost solely to him and Unohana, as they were the most approachable of the lot. He wondered if Mayuri even knew how often members of his own Division came to him for advice and consolation! To Jūshirō, the unsettling temperaments of Mayuri, Zaraki and even Byakuya seemed, at times, like little more than childish tantrums. In short, he was an easygoing guy… just not nearly so much as people assumed. He got angry just like anyone else. And _frustrated_. In fact, he was almost frustrated enough to keep fucking Mayuri's face until the man turned blue – not like he'd be able to tell under the paint anyway – but he had something better in mind. He thrusted one last time, taking his sweet time, before finally releasing his hold and pulling out. Mayuri's hands fell to his knees as he slumped forward and gasped for breath, his composure suggesting his limits were indeed being tested. His arms were shaking, his forehead was slick with sweat, and a string of bloody spit was hanging between his mouth and the floor. When he finally raised his head, his golden eyes were big and wet.

"Don't give me those doe eyes," Jūshirō laughed, rising to his feet. "You asked for it." He grabbed the dizzy scientist by the wrist and pulled him up. "Strip," he commanded. "And quit drooling."

Mayuri scowled and wiped his mouth. "I'm fine, thanks," he said peevishly. It was more or less true – his throat was as raw as one would expect from such abuse but still intact. The blood in his spit had come from his tongue, which he'd cut on his teeth when Jūshirō had slapped the shit out of him. Now _that_ had been unexpected. He'd anticipated little more than a fast, horny fuck out of Jūshirō after teasing him. The fact that the man actually had a sadistic side was so thrilling, he was beside himself with anticipation. He obediently undressed, his pulse pounding, and grinned wildly when Jūshirō practically threw him onto the bed. As the man stepped out of his hakama then fished an obi from their mess of strewn about clothing, Mayuri snuck a sip of sake and admired the sight before him. Jūshirō was tall and sleekly muscled, easily handsome, but it was his aberrations that attracted Mayuri the most. First, his hair – Jūshirō naturally had black hair and yes, that included his body hair. He was nearly hairless, almost like Mayuri himself, but that only made his pubic hair stand out even more. While many would find it odd or even off-putting, Mayuri was delighted by it. He loved black and white – he made that obvious every time he put on his paint – and it tickled him that Jūshirō had both. He also loved the man's scars; while they weren't nearly as prolific (or intentional) as his own, there were still a lot, some of them quite nasty. It was clear just from the number of scars that the guy was a senior Captain in more than just name. When Ukitake stalked over with obi in hand, Mayuri quickly took another chug of sake and chuckled when it was snatched from his hands, a hot blush beneath his paint.

"You're awfully calm for someone who's about to get tied up and fucked senseless," Jūshirō noted after drinking his fill and setting down the bottle.

"Hmm, I think 'quietly expectant' is a more apt description," Mayuri corrected.

Jūshirō snorted then rolled the younger man onto his stomach. "No one says that," he muttered. "Maybe I should gag you, too." He firmly bound Mayuri's hands behind his back, making sure it was too tight to wriggle out of, then without warning, gave his ass a hard smack that stung his palm. The younger man yelped and squirmed deliciously, which only prompted him to do it again. And again. When he was sated, Mayuri's ass was bright red, even through the paint, and his speech had devolved to a nonsensical stream of moans and curses. Jūshirō decided that the gag wouldn't be nearly as fun as hearing the man's vocal reactions. He gave his ass a playful squeeze, resulting in a particularly profane curse, then rolled him on his back. Mayuri glared up at him, his teeth bared in a feral snarl. He looked like a wild animal caught in a hunter's trap, a far cry from 'quietly expectant'. His hostile demeanor was betrayed only by his hard cock, which looked more than a little uncomfortable. Jūshirō did a quick estimation in his head, deciding that the neighboring houses were too far away to hear the man's screams, then laid himself down between his legs.

"Oh no you don't," Mayuri threatened. He tried giving Jūshirō a kick but the older man easily pinned his legs, forcing them to stay spread.

"Really?" Ukitake laughed. "No, you definitely earned this." Smirking maniacally, he began to tease Mayuri's cock at a _much_ slower pace than had been inflicted on him. His many centuries as a virile, bisexual male had given him a very intimate knowledge of the little nuances of libido, giving him a one-up on Mayuri through sheer experience. He'd been sexually active before Mayuri was even a dirty thought in his parents' minds! Therefore, he could play an orgasm like a virtuoso, strumming it along right at the edge without bringing it to a crescendo. He dragged Mayuri through a veritable concerto, complete with all of its many acts, until the man's voice was hoarse from screaming and his body was trembling and shuddering at every touch. When he finally sat up, he wondered how long he'd been at it. Thirty minutes? Maybe even forty? Mayuri was an absolute mess beneath him, plastered in sweat, his hair spiked out and tangled from all of the writhing, his honey colored eyes glazed over and unfocused. The man hadn't spouted anything even remotely coherent in quite some time and Jūshirō wondered if maybe, he'd gone too far and driven him off the edge. "You still there?" he queried, cocking his head.

"You can see _exactly_ where I am, you fucking asshole," Mayuri hissed. "But if you keep this up, you're going to find out that _madness_ isn't a very attractive trait!" He turned his head and coughed raggedly; his throat, which had already been sore, felt like it was on fire. He'd been alternating between hyperventilating and screaming for god knows how long and even his lungs ached now. Hell, his whole _body_ ached – he was so tense, his muscles were beginning to spasm and there was a sticky wetness where his wrists were bound that could only be blood. He gave Jūshirō the most furious look he could conjure, wordlessly imploring him to get on with it before he started frothing at the mouth. Ukitake merely chuckled in response, then fished a small vial from the night stand and poured the contents on his hand. It was obviously lube, making Mayuri realize that he wasn't the first one to be brought to this apartment with romance in mind. The thought made him furious – like a hot poker spearing his skull – but he immediately forced himself to let it go. Neither of them had lived abstinent lives before now and either way, it was extremely petty to feel jealous over something from the past. He wound up just being angry with himself; why in the hell did he care in the first place?

His thoughts dispersed when a slick finger pressed against his ass, swirling around a few times before slipping inside. A moan escaped his lips and he wantonly ground his hips, so hungry for the euphoric pleasure/pain that he thought he might die with anticipation. Luckily, Jūshirō's cruel demeanor was finally beginning to crumble; he stretched Mayuri with a much quicker pace than this prior teasing, his green eyes hazed over with lust. One finger became two, then three – Mayuri met each thrust with an eager jerk of his hips, savoring each little spike of pain like a gourmand sampling appetizers before the main course. It was delicious but it wasn't filling him up. When Jūshirō pulled out and positioned his cock, the air was heavy was suspense before he leaned forward, arms on either side of Mayuri's head, and pushed in. Self-control flew out the window at that very moment; both men had been teased far too long to continue the charade. Mayuri realized his legs were no longer pinned and clamped them in a vice-like grip around Ukitake's waist, prompting him to go even harder and faster than he already was. Even though he was stretched to his very limit, he wanted more – more! – and it wasn't until the mounting pressure finally released into a long, head-spinning orgasm that the ravenous feeling finally abated. He cried out, writhing his hips, coating both their stomachs with an absurd amount of cum from being teased for so long and Jūshirō followed closely, shuddering as he spilled his seed with several hard, frenzied thrusts. When they were both spent, the room finally became silent, save the rasping of their labored breath, and the tense weight in the air lifted. Mayuri felt light himself, even though Jūshirō was laying on him, and hazily contemplated the maddening hunger that had consumed him. He wondered if Hollows felt like that all the time. He grunted a curse when the older man finally slid off and out of him, then silently untied the obi from around his wrists. He examined them to find that indeed they had chafed to the point of bleeding, even rubbing off his paint so that he had two bloody bands of tan below his hands. Jūshirō said nothing in apology although he gave each wrist a tender kiss. Mayuri rolled his eyes. "What a gentleman," he drawled.

Sleep was inevitable; after such a long and strenuous night, just keeping his eyes open felt like a chore. His plan to speed things along had backfired spectacularly but he had to admit, it had been better than he ever could've hoped. Jūshirō wasn't nearly as cut and dry as he seemed. He drifted off nestled in the taller man's arms, too spent to worry about what dreams may come.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: This coronavirus nonsense has given me plenty of free time to work on this story! That's partly why this chapter is so long. Anyway, I made a few real-world references (Cinderella for example) but the human world in Bleach is basically the same as ours, at least as far as culture. Well, I think it is. I could be wrong! If I am, feel free to correct me and don't be afraid to leave a comment either way. I'd love to know what you guys think!


	7. Chapter 7

WARNING: I took some liberties with Kisuke's trial and false conviction, which is just a nice way of saying I fucked it up a bit. I actually didn't realize that the trial took place in Central 46 and that no members of the Gotei 13 seemed to be present for it (save Yourichi who broke in). It's not a huge incongruity though so I'm just gonna roll with it, as I kinda sorta made it integral to the entire damn plot before I realized my mistake. Also, there's some pretty upsetting embellishment given to Mayuri's weight loss. There's violent abuse and gore, too. Alright, then… enjoy, I guess?

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The first week under the curse had been the hardest. First and foremost, Mayuri's mental state had been apocalyptic. His will had flapped around madly in its new tethers like a frenzied, caged bird, slamming against the bars again and again until its wings were too broken to spread. He'd tried everything in his power to just _think_ about his conundrum only to find his mind wandering aimlessly, forgetting what he'd been after. Writing it down had proved fruitless, as had speaking it aloud. Just the three words 'Kisuke cursed me' failed to assemble correctly in his head. That feeling of frustration one gets when they forget what they were about to do – and it always seems like something important, no less – was how he felt _constantly_. His abundant duties as Captain gave him a considerable distraction (he could think just fine about literally anything else) but every second he was alone, he was writhing internally.

That wasn't even the worst part. No, that was the love. Being away from Kisuke left a howling void in his heart; he often felt like if he touched his chest, he'd find a hole there like that of a Hollow. It ached and gnawed at him, made him grieve and yearn. _Here, one week, eight pm,_ was a date that punctuated every second of his life. It felt like a year, not a week. As time crawled by, paranoia wracked him. What if Kisuke stood him up? What if he never saw him again? Those possibilities were too pitch black and terrifying to linger on but they plagued him nonetheless. No, he was going to see Kisuke and that was all there was to it. Any other outcome was simply not an option.

Trapped in this mindset, losing weight had actually soothed him to a degree – it felt like he was making progress. Every time he stepped on the scales and saw a lesser number, he was one step closer to Kisuke. However, ten pounds was indeed a lot. Just refraining from taking sustenance wasn't nearly enough to cut it; he'd had to resort to some extreme methods to achieve his goal. He relentlessly exercised instead of sleeping, injected himself with veritable poisons that sped up his metabolism, even removed a portion of his guts. By the seventh day, he'd lost a solid eleven, just to be on the safe side. Kisuke hadn't even weighed him to begin with but the possibility of failure was too frightening to risk. Standing naked before a mirror, he'd been darkly pleased with his reflection. His cheekbones stuck out more, he could see the outline of his ribs down the center of his chest and his stomach was slightly concave. His body was still covered in Kisuke's bite marks – aside from disinfecting them, he'd done nothing to speed along their healing – and a new, bright red scar crossed his abdomen from his stomach surgery. Anyone else would clearly see a malnourished victim of abuse but all he saw was a shining success. He wouldn't find out until later that he had no choice but to lose weight anyway; no matter how hungry he got, the curse made him automatically throw up any food or water he managed to get past his lips, if he didn't spit it out first. 'Lose some weight' was all Kisuke had said to cause this. What if he ever said something even worse, like 'take out your own brain' or 'kill everyone in the Gotei 13'?!

Luckily, Mayuri hadn't been stood up, although any sane person would conclude that 'luck' was an extremely inaccurate word. Kisuke had led him to a massive secret training ground beneath his shop, which not only cloaked reiatsu but was absolutely sound proof. No one had heard Mayuri's screams when Kisuke casually maimed him, biting him right on top of the still-sore existing bites until the ground was wet with blood. The sex that ensued had been equally painful, same as the last time except lacking the comfort of the futon. When Mayuri finally dragged himself home, he'd had to spend a long time digging pebbles from his wounds. If that wasn't bad enough, Kisuke had barely even commented on his weight! 'Lose some more,' was all he'd said about it. Mayuri hadn't found the words to object – hell, he lacked even the _capacity_ to object – but the callous demand had felt like a slap in the face. Kisuke might as well have called him fat!

The weeks crawled by and eventually summed up to a month. Mayuri's schedule was so punctuated by fits of maddening hunger and painful sessions with Kisuke that it started feeling normal. Outwardly, he looked and acted no differently. His uniform hid his diminishing weight and the angles of his paint and mask perfectly disguised the increasing gauntness of his face. His attitude was by no means placid but everyone was used to his wild mood swings and didn't give it a second thought. Passing through the hallways of the Twelfth, one might hear a conversation like this:

"Captain Kurotsuchi's been acting really crazy lately, don't you think?"

"Is this your first day or what? He's always been fucking crazy! Just keep your head down and your mouth shut! And next time you want to whine, don't do it around me – I sure as hell don't wanna be his next experiment because he caught us talking shit!"

"Fine, I get it. Man, I should've joined a different Division."

No one suspected a thing, not even Nemu, at least as far as he could tell. They'd just gotten in a batch of new recruits so he put her almost exclusively in charge of their training, just to keep her busy. As hard as it was to think about the curse, he was sure of one thing – he absolutely couldn't let her know. If she put herself between him and Kisuke, the outcome would be bad, one way or another. What if Kisuke fought her before his eyes? Would he have the capacity to intervene? He'd been obeying Kisuke's every command so far; what if he was even ordered to kill her himself? Obviously, he didn't want to find out. He almost wished he wasn't so protective of his greatest achievement – she was probably the only person in the Seireitei who knew him well enough to potentially suspect that something was amiss. As it was though, he seemed doomed to suffer his fate alone. He supposed he deserved it; after all, it was entirely his fault that he was such an unapproachable asshole. If literally anyone else was going through this, their friends and loved ones would notice right away! Since he had neither, his only hope was Kisuke himself. Maybe during one of these visits, he'd finally show some pity and lift the curse. Was it even fun having sex with a skeleton? Scratch that – Kisuke had actually been _increasingly_ aroused. No, the situation was utterly hopeless and Mayuri wishing he hadn't been such a dick to everyone didn't change a thing. If things kept going like they were, he was inevitably going to die in a month or two. No one in the Seireitei had ever died of starvation; he'd be the first and probably the last!

He'd tried so fucking hard to do something, _anything_ to help himself, he really had! The curse simply wouldn't allow it! During that first week, when his will had still been strong enough to resist, he'd even made it so far as to formulate a plan. He could no longer remember what he'd even come up with; perhaps it had been as half-cocked as zapping his brain with an electric shock? Either way, he'd had the plan clamped tightly in his mind and had moved to enact it… but that was the end of the foggy memory. He'd woken up a few minutes later, sprawled out on the floor of his lab with a searing migraine. It was absurd to think that Kisuke had been so thorough, he'd even implanted a failsafe that knocked Mayuri unconscious if he bucked too hard against the curse. That's exactly what had happened, though. And the migraine had been no joke – he'd spent the next six hours dry-heaving. So his dire state wasn't for lack of trying. Kisuke's curse – Mayuri had only dubbed it that because it was the closest thing he could relate it to – was a masterpiece.

Despite everything going against Mayuri, he still felt a tiny glimmer of hope. His date with Kisuke tonight (just like the curse, he had no idea what else to call it) marked one month since the fateful day he'd first entered the shop. Thirty days had passed, nearly thirty pounds had been lost and he just felt like something had to give. Perhaps Kisuke would release the curse tonight, deem it a successful experiment and apologize for the inconvenience! It sounded stupider than shit in his head but he supposed it was better than being utterly hopeless. As he trudged toward the shop, he tried to envision the unlikely scenario: Kisuke would say some magic word to lift the curse then bow in apology, tears of regret streaming down his face. Mayuri bit back a chuckle. At least it was an amusing thought, if nothing else.

His musings ground to a halt when he found himself in front of Urahara's shop. The place had a pull to it, as if it had its own gravity well. He found Kisuke in his usual spot within it – sitting at the table, sipping tea. The sweet smell of a recently baked confection hung in the air, which Mayuri had a hard time ignoring as he approached the table and took a seat. He still couldn't believe Kisuke had chosen to run a candy store of all things; the knowledge that this monster was interacting with kids all day was more than a little disturbing. Speaking of kids, Jinta and Ururu were hustling about, closing up shop. He'd initially been shocked that they could see him but quickly concluded that they were probably mod souls inhabiting gigai. Whatever they were, they didn't like him; he knew that much. When Jinta flipped him off from behind a shelf, he rolled his eyes. "Mind your manners," he scolded.

"Screw you, freak," Jinta taunted, sticking out his tongue. "Hey, how come you keep getting skinnier? You too stupid to eat?" Ururu was shyly peeking her head out behind him.

"No, I'm just saving my appetite for the day you push me over the edge," Mayuri drawled. "I bet you taste like _chicken_." He flashed Jinta a crazed grin and chomped his teeth menacingly, causing the kid to stumble back and nearly knock over Ururu.

"Alright, that's enough for today," Urahara told them. "Go bug the Kurosaki kids or something." After they'd gone, he settled his gaze on Mayuri, looking him up and down with an unreadable expression on his face. Finally, a nasty grin curved his lips. "You do look skinny," he chuckled. "I'd offer you some candy but I don't want to upset your stomach. How much have you lost now?"

"Almost thirty pounds," Mayuri grated, his face hot. He'd just been back-talked by a little kid, now this?

"_Almost_, is it?" Kisuke chided. "I was hoping you'd have it at an even thirty to match the date. Hmm, I guess that's just me being a little obsessive with my numbers. Alright then, you'll make it up to me by hitting forty by your next visit."

Something in Mayuri suddenly broke. "I _obviously_ have no mass left to lose," he snapped. "What do you want me to do, remove my fucking organs?" It was the closest to anger he'd achieved toward the man since being cursed; he was genuinely shocked by it.

Kisuke didn't move a muscle but his rage was palpable. "I don't know, Kurotsuchi, how much does your appendix weigh?" he sneered. "How about your gall bladder? Surely you don't need both your kidneys! Is your hunger clouding your ability to do basic fucking math?"

Mayuri blinked. "Are you serious?" he asked incredulously.

"Do I sound like I'm joking?" Kisuke growled. "What the fuck is up with you and your redundant questions?" He bolted up from his seat, knocking it over, and grabbed Mayuri by the wrist, yanking him to his feet. "In fact, since you've been such an asshole since the second you arrived, I'll show you exactly how serious I am!"

Between the curse's crippling effect and his malnourished condition, Mayuri was far too weak to struggle. As Kisuke dragged him all the way down to the training ground, he didn't even bother crying out in protest. He was so thoroughly broken at this point, it was a wonder Kisuke was still even getting enjoyment from torturing him – it was probably about as exciting as poking a dead animal with a stick. After all their years together, he still had no clue what made the man tick. Whatever it was, it was too sinister for him to grasp… and he wasn't exactly a virtuous person himself.

"Strip from the waist up," Kisuke commanded once they were a little ways in. Mayuri wordlessly complied although he stopped at his mask, loathe to get it dirty. Kisuke claimed he'd made this whole place in one day and one night yet he couldn't bring down one lousy mat? However, Kisuke said nothing of his mask, pushing him down on the ground and crudely binding his hands and feet with some rope he'd grabbed on the way. Lying on his back like a lamb for slaughter, Mayuri wondered what the hell the guy had planned. Being tied up was nothing new but why was he half-clothed? Weren't they going to fuck? He was more disconcerted by the possibility that they wouldn't than anything else. He felt like a hopeless addict and sex with Kisuke was the drug. It was so painful, he didn't even like it – he just had to have it, simply put. His yearning spiked when Kisuke trailed a hand down his bare abdomen but fell when he stopped and stood up, a mysterious grin on his face.

"Your piss-poor attitude gave me an idea," he explained as he withdrew his Zanpakutō from its sheath and flourished it. "Since you have all those useless organs weighing you down, I have the perfect opportunity to get some much-needed training. You see, I rarely get to use my _Bankai_ these days."

Mayuri, who'd been silent this entire time, finally found his voice. "Are you fucking serious?" he shouted, wriggling in his binds. "Come on, give me a break!"

Kisuke frowned and kicked him in the side, making him curse and crumple up. "Yet another redundant question," he said with disdain. "Now shut up and keep still. Any accident won't be my fault if you're squirming around." He took a few steps back and thrust his sword in the air. "Bankai," he called casually.

The air around Mayuri grew heavy and seemed to shimmer. In a swirl of mist, Benihime appeared behind Kisuke, her form nearly as large as Ashisogi Jizō. Mayuri had only seen her – her, it? – a handful of times during his years as Third Seat. While Kisuke's Bankai wasn't as disruptive as Shinji's, Kyōraku's or even his own, its area of effect made it dangerous enough that it was only used for dire emergencies. In the depths of his subconscious, he felt Ashisogi Jizō quail with anxiety. His Zanpakutō was _not_ pleased with the recent turn of events but since it was a part of him, it was just as cursed as he was. Mayuri tried to ignore his own anxiety as he eyed Benihime from his limited vantage point on the ground. With little to no subtlety, a Shinigami's Bankai betrayed the wielder's innermost self. Mayuri's own Bankai resembled a caterpillar, a symbol of metamorphosis, which clearly embodied his desire for progress and change. One could also joke that they were both just big babies, which he took with a grain of salt. He was self-aware enough to know how petulant he could be. Along these same lines, Kisuke's Bankai said a lot. It was a scantily clad woman, which drew an obvious conclusion in itself, but its joints were that of a doll or a puppet. In Mayuri's opinion, this openly revealed the man's outlook on life – he saw everyone around him, especially women, as little more than playthings. Benihime didn't speak, didn't even open her eyes; she merely did as she was told. To Kisuke, she was the perfect woman.

"If it wasn't obvious, I'm going to hone my surgical skill," Kisuke explained, breaking Mayuri's philosophical train of thought. He sauntered to Mayuri's side and shoved the Zanpakutō's sheath in his face. "Bite down on it," he urged. "This is going to hurt and I won't be able to focus if you start screaming."

Mayuri opened his mouth to protest but Kisuke shoved in the sheath before he could get a word out. Panic finally crawled over him as reality sank in. _He's really going to do this,_ he thought hysterically. _No anesthesia, no nothing, he's really fucking doing this?! _

Benihime's joints made disturbing pops and clicks as she extended her arms, splaying her hands above Mayuri's abdomen. Thread dangled from her fingertips, disconcertingly reminding him of a spider's web. And then, with absolutely no fanfare, he _unzipped_. There was no blade, not even a touch; from his solar plexus to right above his groin, his skin simply parted. He was so shocked, it took a second for the pain to register but when it did, he fucking _lost_ it. All he could hear was his own screams, muffled by the sheath, and a voice – was it Kisuke's? – calling his name, over and over.

"Mayuri!"

"Mayuri!"

"Holy shit, _Mayuri!_"

His eyelids snapped open and looming above him was Ukitake, whose green eyes were wide with panic. "Mayuri?" he panted hoarsely. It sounded like he'd been shouting for quite some time.

"I know what my name is," Mayuri wheezed; Ukitake had him by the shoulders and was still shaking him even though he was awake. "Goddamnit, stop that," he grunted. "I'm up, I'm up!"

"Damnit, sorry," Ukitake said, releasing his hold and sitting back. He ran his fingers through his disheveled hair, breathing heavily. "Holy shit," he repeated. "Are you alright?"

Mayuri threw back the sheet and examined his stomach, just to make sure his guts weren't hanging out. He'd been helplessly wondering at the new scars running along his midsection and knowing their cause offered no consolation. "I think I'm missing some organs," he muttered. "I'll have to take some scans when I get back to my lab."

"It was just a dream," Jūshirō consoled uncertainly.

"No, it was a memory," Mayuri tersely corrected. "A very unpleasant one, at that." If Jūshirō hadn't woken him when he did, it would've gotten a lot worse. Had he stayed conscious during the entire operation or had he passed out from the shock? He didn't care to remember either way.

"Oh. Yah, I could tell it was bad," Jūshirō said. "You were crying out and thrashing around… I almost thought you were having a _seizure_. What was the memory?"

Mayuri shook his head and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He wondered if the man would even believe him; it sounded too grotesque to be true. "I can't talk about it right now," he sighed. "Can I take a shower?"

"Sure," Jūshirō said. "Mind if I slip in with you?"

While the idea would've been tempting under any other circumstance, Mayuri merely shook his head again. "I need a moment alone," he admitted. "You can use it after me; I won't be long." They had both passed out immediately after sex, sleeping in their own cum like a couple of slobs, so he was sure Ukitake was really longing to wash up. He noted the disappointed expression on the man's face as he left for the bathroom but it didn't change his mind. He had a feeling he was probably going to start crying and was loathe to make a display of it again. Once was more than enough!

Sure enough, he broke down as soon as he was under the spray of water. Kisuke's operation was bad enough but what really got him was his own condition at the time. He hadn't been able to resist at all! He was such a fucking weakling! How had he just taken it like that? If he was reading these memories on paper rather than experiencing them firsthand, no amount of proof would convince him that it had actually happened! Once he got himself back under control, he was stuck with a hot feeling of embarrassment. If he wasn't so stupid and weak, he would've broken the curse by then. _But the curse *made* you stupid and weak,_ a voice in the back of his head reminded him. _You tried the best you could!_ Well, 'trying' hadn't been worth a shit, had it? He might as well have handed himself over to Kisuke on a silver platter! He turned the water off with a sigh, not even caring that a few flecks of paint still clung to his skin.

The second he left the bathroom, Jūshirō hurried inside and turned the water on to a full roar. Nevertheless, Mayuri heard a bunch of coughing, followed by retching, concluding with the unpleasant splash of vomit into a toilet. The shower didn't mask sound very well at all, making him realize that his crying had probably been just as obvious. However, his embarrassment was overshadowed by a hint of concern; vomiting was a pretty common result of drinking but that cough had sounded like a fucking _death rattle_. Oh, well. There was nothing he could do about Jūshirō's unique illness tonight. If things got serious between them, though… he was going to have to deal with it at some point. He'd be the laughing stock of the entire scientific community if the guy croaked while they were romantically involved! That just wouldn't do.

As he wandered into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water, he questioned his own mental state. Last night, he'd gotten jealous just from seeing a bottle of lube and here he was now, considering the possibility of a serious relationship! Had his ordeal with Kisuke made him into a clingy pile of mush? No, that was impossible! Jūshirō had asked _him_ on a date, not the other way around! Well… in that case, why was Jūshirō even pursuing him, anyway? He'd always pictured the man settling down with a nice, mild-mannered soul, perhaps someone from the Fourth. Mayuri was as far from 'mild-mannered' as one could be; in fact, there was absolutely nothing redeeming about his personality that he could think of. He was pompous, short-tempered, rude, selfish… the list went on and on. Could it be that Jūshirō just really liked having sex with him? Mayuri didn't like that possibility one bit, even though he'd been the one to insist on keeping it casual. No, that couldn't be it. If that was the case, he wouldn't have pried into Mayuri's personal life – and shown concern, for that matter. He clicked his tongue, annoyed with himself. He could theorize until his brain exploded and it wouldn't get him any closer to figuring it out. When the time was right, he'd just have to _ask_ the man.

However, now was not the time. He guessed it to be around two in the morning, which was definitely the time for more sleep and nothing else. After all, he'd been up for an entire _week_ and a few scant hours of nightmare-plagued thrashing wasn't going to cut it. He slammed down his water, filled it back up for Jūshirō, then made his way back to the bedroom. The older man was just returning from his shower, wrapped in a robe. Mayuri was naked – he hadn't seen anything except a lone towel in there, which he'd hung back up – but he doubted Jūshirō minded. His theory was confirmed by a playful smack on his ass, almost making him spill the water.

"Jackass," he grumbled, although he was grinning. "Here, drink this." He handed over the glass, which Jūshirō downed gratefully, then flopped down on the bed. He felt like he could sleep for a year.

"You feel any better?" asked Ukitake, who set the glass down and laid down beside him. "I was worried about you." He pulled the sheets up around them and inched closer behind Mayuri so they were pressed together back to chest.

"Mmm… what do they call this?" yawned Mayuri. "Spooning, is it? Why would you name a sleeping style after a piece of cutlery?"

"Ignoring me, eh?"

"I'm fine," Mayuri huffed. "Just tired."

"Alright," Jūshirō relented. "Goodnight."

Mayuri let out a chuckle. "God, you're cheesy…"

X X X

He awoke slowly, his eyelids aching and heavy as they parted. The sky looked pretty for a moment until he realized it was merely clouds painted onto a high ceiling. Oh right, he was still in Urahara's fucking training ground. In a flash, he remembered Benihime, his skin parting like bloody curtains, then nothing at all. He tried lifting his head to examine himself but was immediately discouraged by a jolt of searing pain.

"Just stay still," growled a familiar voice. "I'm not done patching you up." Seconds later, Kisuke's face slid into Mayuri's line of sight. "You squirmed around too much," the man reprimanded. "I told you it wouldn't be my fault if an accident occurred as a result."

Mayuri tried to say "an accident?!" but wound up spewing up a bunch of blood instead. Kisuke sighed and helped him turn his head until it was over. "Like I said, stay still," he said testily. "You're just making even more of a mess." He then fell silent, a look of concentration clouding his features as he hovered his hands over Mayuri's abdomen and began to use healing Kido. The pain was making it very difficult for Mayuri to think but his mind still buzzed with questions. Other than the obvious 'what went wrong', he couldn't help but wonder why this stupid operation had failed so miserably in the first place. Benihime's entire ability revolved around the concept of restructuring – she could take a body part that had been maimed beyond recognition and put it back together, even better than it was before. Mayuri had seen this with his own eyes during battle; Kisuke would get blown apart by a Hollow's cero, only to call Bankai and stitch himself back together with the extra strength he needed to win. Removing a few organs then sewing the wound back up should be child's play! However, he'd only ever seen Kisuke use the ability on himself. Perhaps that was the issue – he simply wasn't used to restructuring other people. On the other hand, maybe he'd just _wanted_ to maim him. That seemed far more likely; Kisuke was no novice by any stretch of the imagination.

"Alright, you can move now," said Kisuke, crossing his arms. "Try to sit up." Mayuri obeyed, wincing in the process but succeeding. Finally, he looked down at himself – his entire torso was covered in blood and right down the middle of his stomach ran an ugly, fat scar, sloppily stitched and far from being a straight line. It looked as though _Jinta_ had performed the surgery. However, that was the extent of the damage, at least that he could see. Somehow his navel was still intact as well, as the scar ran a little off-center. He'd been halfway expecting something utterly horrific – perhaps just a bloody hole with the organs all scooped out of it – so he supposed it could be worse. Oh, it's not that bad, it could be worse… he'd been reciting that mantra all too frequently lately. Honestly, how could it _possibly_ be any worse? Anger eluded him – that brief spike he'd felt in the shop had gone as quickly as it had come – and in its place was a cold yet frantic despair.

"Why did you even bother healing me?" he heard himself rasp through a constricting tightness in his throat. "I know you want me dead. Is it really that fun dragging it out like this?" Mayuri had been called 'cruel' many times during his life but that wasn't necessarily accurate. He didn't delight in making others suffer; he merely saw pain and discomfort as an inevitable side-effect of scientific progress. If there was a humane way to achieve the same results, he would _always_ take that route; it was easier when the subject was comfortable, after all. If that wasn't an option, however, he wouldn't hesitate to move forward. Sacrifice was a necessary evil. It was those times that people always remembered him by, not the countless other times when the test subject remained unscathed. He was merely a scientist who viewed life with a curious yet clinical eye. Sadism – making others suffer for no reason other than personal satisfaction – confused the fuck out of him. He just didn't _understand_ it and being the victim of it brought him no closer to clarity.

"I never said I wanted you dead," Kisuke replied, sounding exasperated even though Mayuri's question had been legitimate. "Are you really so weak of mind that you think you're going to die just from a little weight loss?"

"A little weight loss?" Mayuri grated. "You just took my _organs_ out! That isn't a little! Assuming _that_ doesn't do me in, my body will eventually fail on its own and yes, I will die!"

"Oh please, stop being dramatic," Kisuke sighed. "The operation was messy but of course it was a success. I didn't even take out a kidney! You have a good month or two left in you. Who knows… Shinigami have stout constitutions, maybe you'll manage to keep going for a whole year!"

"You know that's not true," Mayuri said flatly. Even two months sounded overly optimistic.

"Perhaps," Kisuke relented. "No, I don't expect you to make it _that_ long. But dying before I'm done is unacceptable."

"Done?" Mayuri echoed. "Done with _what_?" Suddenly, here was the biggest question of all, the one that he was literally dying to know.

Kisuke's eyes narrowed and his shoulders tensed. "If you must know, I'm merely taking back what you owe me," he said in a low voice. "How are you still in the dark about all of this? How – when you stood back and let me get banished for a crime I didn't commit – can there be any confusion?"

Mayuri blinked as he processed the unexpected information; he'd never even considered that Kisuke may not be guilty. Furthermore, why was the man blaming _him_ for the verdict? "What do you mean you didn't commit it?" he asked slowly. "All the evidence pointed to-"

"What evidence?" Kisuke snapped, his face becoming red. "Kurotsuchi, you weren't even present for the fucking trial! If you'd bothered to show up, you would've seen that all the evidence was complete horse shit! No one else saw the lies because no one else knew me – my projects, my schedule – like you did!" He was trembling with rage now. "_You_ would've seen through it," he shouted. "_You_ would've been able to clear my name! But you WEREN'T! FUCKING! THERE!" His voice was so loud now, it echoed through the canyons of the training area.

Mayuri felt a trickle of cold sweat slide down his forehead. It had all happened in a blur to him; Kisuke had been caught, tried and had made his escape all within a few short days. Still, Mayuri had deliberately been absent for the trial. For him, it was a sudden way out – out of the abuse, out of the sex which he hated every second of, out of it all! He'd come up with his usual excuse for absence, saying he was simply too busy to attend. Upon hearing the accusations, he hadn't even been shocked. He knew all too well that Kisuke had a dark side! "If I'd been present, what makes you think I would've defended you?" he said, his voice quiet yet firm. "After everything you'd done to me, I _wanted_ you to go away." There was no point in lying. What would Kisuke do, kill him? At this point, it would be a kindness.

"After everything I'd _done_ to you?" Kisuke raged. "I freed you from the fucking Maggot's Nest! Every second you spend outside of that cage is a second that I _gave_ you! After everything I'd done, you should've defended me with your life! But what did you do instead? You stabbed me in the fucking back!"

"First of all, I didn't stab you in the back," Mayuri scoffed. "I merely wasn't present for the trial. As unlikeable as I am, I'm not sure why you think anyone would've listened to my testimony anyway. I probably would've just gotten banished alongside you! And either way, you're leaving out a huge part of the equation, which is the fact that you treated me like utter _shit_." He sighed and shook his head; this was incredibly difficult to talk about, with or without the curse. "In many ways, you somehow made my life even worse than it was before we met. I was crazy and miserable but at least I was left _alone_. You took my dignity, my sense of privacy, my self-respect… somehow, you found someone who had absolutely nothing and still managed to _take_! Before your trial, I'd been seriously contemplating fleeing to the Human World myself, just to get away from you. Why do you think I helped you invent those cloaks that conceal reiatsu? Kisuke, I don't know what you _thought_ you were doing to me – maybe you even thought I liked it, even though I told you otherwise multiple times – but it was a fucking nightmare. If you wanted me to defend you with my life, you shouldn't have forced me to be your goddamn _sex slave_."

Kisuke looked as though Mayuri had just slapped him in the face. He was silent for an uncomfortable length of time, during which he alternated between glaring at Mayuri and the ground, before he finally spoke. "You're full of shit," he snarled. "You came almost every time we had sex so don't try and tell me you didn't like it! And all that other crap you said doesn't even make any sense! Our relationship may have had its ups and downs – you were a dick to me quite often and yah, sometimes I would get upset – but that's normal! No, it's a century too late for you to try and pull the sympathy card on me. You can try as much as you want to play the victim but it won't change my mind. The fact is, you owe me a _pound of flesh_ for every year you strutted around in my Captain's haori while I starved and scrapped down here, hiding in fright like a hunted animal!" His grey eyes were feverishly bright with malice – he looked quite purely insane.

_A pound of flesh, huh,_ Mayuri wondered. _The epitome of poetic justice._ He was having a hard time digesting Kisuke's rant. He'd somehow managed to twist things around to make it sound as though _Mayuri_ was the abusive asshole. And the way he'd said it heavily implied that he actually believed it. Kisuke really thought their 'relationship' had been within the parameters of normal. Mayuri knew that nothing would change his tormentor's mind; hell, he'd just told him exactly how he felt about it all and it had only served to fuel the man's conviction. In Kisuke's mind, Mayuri was an ungrateful, back-stabbing prick, sauntering around in a stolen haori. Knowing the truth, while illuminating many questions, only sunk his hopes even further into the mud. Kisuke had somehow managed to condense all his woe, his hatred, his frustration, into revenge against Mayuri. But it still left questions! Other than the blunt fact that 'a pound of flesh for each year' totaled to roughly a hundred pounds, which would leave Mayuri as little more than a brain in a jar, there was a big piece missing. "If you didn't commit the crime, who did?" he asked skeptically.

"After everything I just told you, you're worried about _that_?" Kisuke said in disbelief. "You should be more concerned about your own fate."

"My fate seems to be sealed," Mayuri sighed. "Unless you plan to reconstruct me after you've reduced me to nothing." There was that stupid glimmer of hope again, peeking through the mud.

"Perish the thought," Kisuke replied. "You don't deserve redemption. As for the perpetrator? Telling you would add too much of an unknown variable to my plan. All I'll say is, you've all been living a lie."

"Well no shit," Mayuri said sourly. "We all thought it was _you_." In fact, he still wasn't convinced otherwise. Kisuke could just be fucking with him in an effort to fish out some sympathy. He decided that asking anymore questions would be pointless; whatever this 'plan' was that Kisuke had mentioned surely wasn't going to be revealed. Mayuri could draw up a hypothesis – Kisuke probably wanted to slide back into the Seireitei – but he could only be certain about one thing. Kisuke wanted him to suffer and, ultimately, die. "I suppose we're done here, are we not?" he asked, his voice dull. "Perhaps you'll at least let me wash up after maiming me." He didn't even want to have sex anymore; between the traumatizing surgery and the solemn revelation of Kisuke's motives, not even the effects of the charm were enough to keep him in the mood. He was in enough pain without adding a sore ass to the equation.

"Fine," Kisuke said, rising to his feet. "Come on, then." He watched with cold eyes as Mayuri struggled to stand, refusing to offer a hand even when the latter fell down halfway through, ripping a few of the stitches in the process. "Quit fucking around," he snarled, finally yanking Mayuri upright. "And throw on a shirt. I doubt anyone's in the shop but we can't be too careful."

Mayuri muttered a curse and gingerly donned his black kimono, wincing as he tucked it in around the throbbing scar. It was inaccurate to even call it a scar yet, as Kisuke's bit of healing hadn't been enough to knit the skin together. He'd have to finish healing it when he got back to his Division. As they made their way up to the exit, he had a hard time keeping up with Kisuke's pace; every step he took felt weighted down with lead. Healing or not, he'd lost a lot of blood. He glanced back at the site where the carnage had taken place and saw a giant, deep red splatter on the ground. It looked like someone had met their gory demise there, which wasn't far off the mark.

Once in the washroom, he tried to clean himself up as quickly as possible, only paying close attention to the spots people would see once he was fully clothed. Fortunately, he'd had the sense to even remove his white obi before the carnage, which managed to cover the blood that had soaked into the waist of his hakama. Since he couldn't stand having a dirty mouth after giving Kisuke head, he had his own toothbrush in here too; he was thankful for his obsessive hygiene after vomiting up blood. When everything was in place, he looked passable enough. The only thing that betrayed his wound was his posture – he couldn't quite stand up straight without painfully stretching it. He didn't think he'd be able to flash step in this condition, either… he was probably going to have to walk the whole way back, slowly.

"You fucking done in there or what? What the hell is taking you so long?"

Mayuri grated his teeth so hard he could taste enamel. Why couldn't he just get _angry_?! He'd paint this shop red! He took one last glance in the mirror – a tired, dull-eyed fool scowled back at him – and swung open the door. His heart dropped when he saw Kisuke's gigai slumped in the corner and the man himself sitting shirtless on the futon. That obviously only meant one thing – Kisuke wanted to get laid. "It was incredibly difficult for me to get dressed," he droned. "Please don't make me do it again."

"I'm not asking you to undress," Kisuke growled. "Just come here and suck me off. It's the least you can do after breaking my fucking heart."

Mayuri felt like a robot on autopilot as he obediently approached the futon, removed Ashisogi Jizō from his obi and painstakingly knelt. He couldn't believe Kisuke was trying to guilt trip him; why even waste his breath when Mayuri had to obey him either way? Whatever. He took off his hat and dully reached for the ties of Kisuke's hakama, wanting to get this over with so he could finally just go home. However, Kisuke batted his hands away and grabbed his chin piece, forcing his head to tilt up. Mayuri flinched and looked off to the side, biting back an exasperated sigh. Was he _ever_ going to get to leave?

"Look at me," Kisuke urged. Mayuri shuddered slightly and met the man's gaze. Kisuke's eyes were fixated on him intently – like he was searching for something – and there was a hurt expression on his face. "That shit you said back there," he said softly. "Tell me you didn't mean it."

Mayuri's pulse pounded in his ears as his numb, exhausted brain tried to fathom the weight of the question. "I don't know what you want from me," he stammered. "I was being honest."

"No, I refuse to believe it," Kisuke grated. "You _liked_ being with me, I know you did." With his free hand, he brushed a lock of hair from Mayuri's eyes then gently stroked his cheek. "At least tell me my charm worked well enough to make you love me."

Mayuri's face felt hot and his heart fluttered in his chest. Just something so simple as a caress on his cheek made him dizzy with yearning. He wondered if Kisuke even knew the extent of the effect. "You know it worked," he said weakly.

"Just say the words," Kisuke implored, his voice like silk. His free hand continued its teasing, stroking his cheek some more then ruffling through his hair, massaging his scalp. If Mayuri wasn't completely enthralled by the contact, he'd find it unbearably demeaning. Here he was kneeling before his master, literally being _petted_. However, the humiliation felt far away and insignificant. Even the throbbing wound in his gut ebbed to a mild discomfort, overcome by the dopamine flooding his senses. To say physical contact was _like_ a drug was perhaps not giving the charm enough credit – it gave Mayuri a rush just as strong as a shot of opiates, fulfilling the entire definition of the word 'drug' save the presence of a substance. Because of this, it was all too easy for those three words to slip out of his mouth.

"I love you." It came out softer than a sigh yet it also managed to sound heavy, betraying what it really was – admission of defeat. He would have to deal with the embarrassment, the frustration, the woe of that confession later on, just as he'd have to deal with his wound. For now, though, he just didn't care. He didn't even care that Kisuke didn't say it back. The man merely let out a pleased chuckle then leaned over and kissed him, hungrily slipping in his tongue as if he could taste the words. Mayuri reciprocated eagerly – he couldn't respond any other way – and slid his hands up to Kisuke's bare waist, running his fingernails lightly over his skin. The blonde groaned into his mouth from the contact and shivered, his own hands tangled in Mayuri's hair. The kiss lingered on for an immeasurable amount of time, weightless and dreamlike. Mayuri felt like he was underwater, or perhaps falling, too caught up in pleasure to ground himself. When their lips finally parted, he was light-headed and dizzy. To his credit, Kisuke looked equally out of it, his eyes half lidded and a flush on his cheeks. His hands fell to Mayuri's chest where they absently toyed with his scarf… he seemed to be deep in thought, although what about was anyone's guess.

"Come lie on the bed; there's something I want to try," he finally said, sitting back to give Mayuri the space to do so. "I promise it's nothing bad. You don't even have to undress."

The weightless sensation Mayuri had felt predictably disappeared when he did as he was told – he was lighter than ever yet felt like he weighed a literal ton. Surprisingly however, Kisuke actually helped him lie back and even propped a pillow under his head. "What are you after?" he couldn't help but ask. "I'm afraid I don't have enough blood left for another _surgery_."

"Hey, I'm being nice to you so don't kill the mood," Kisuke replied. He bent down and stole another kiss, just as deep as the last, then laid himself down between Mayuri's legs. Meeting Kurotsuchi's dumbfounded look with an embarrassed scowl, he quickly unfastened the man's hakama and pulled out his cock, which was half-hard with a mixture of lust and confusion. "If you ever tell a soul I did this, you'll die a eunuch," he threatened. With that said, he tentatively took the head in his mouth.

Mayuri clamped a hand over his own mouth to stifle a loud groan, his eyes rolling back in his head. In all the times they'd fucked, Kisuke had never gone down on him. He'd never even given it a _lick_. Mayuri had never bothered asking the man why, as it was obvious that sucking cock was simply 'too gay' for a conflicted homophobe. Had he wanted to that entire time, though? If Mayuri was capable of anger, he'd probably be feeling it right now. He loved receiving oral sex just as much as he loved giving it and Kisuke's aversion had been yet another black mark on a very, very long list of negatives. How irritating! He wasn't able to dwell on the matter for long, though… and the second he focused on the present, he forgot what he'd even been irritated about. Kisuke was blushing fiercely and had a look of deep concentration on his face that betrayed the _newness_ of it. For someone who'd casually just ripped out a man's organs without so much as a flinch, he looked remarkably innocent. Despite it being his first time, his ministrations were far from fumbling. He'd clearly been paying close attention to all the head Mayuri had given him, mimicking his techniques down to the letter. From the way Kisuke coyly teased the head with his tongue, ran his lips up and down the shaft, even sucked the tip, Mayuri felt almost as if he was getting a blowjob from himself.

And damn, Kisuke had learned from the best! Mayuri realized that being 'the best' at sucking cock wasn't exactly a shining commendation but at the moment, he was more than a little grateful for it. Even when he uncovered his mouth to bury his hands in Kisuke's blonde locks, urging the man to continue, he had to firmly bite his lip to keep from crying out in pleasure. Kisuke seemed pleased with himself as well, spurred on by Mayuri's wanton reactions, and only paused briefly before beginning to deep throat him. Mayuri could feel the man's throat constrict a few times as he gagged and noticed a wet sheen on his grey eyes. He adjusted quickly, however, acquiring a hungry, relentless pace that brought Mayuri to the edge immediately. He wanted to last longer – he wanted this moment to never end! – but it was a futile wish. He finally cried out loudly and arched his back as he came, watching deliriously as Kisuke kept his throbbing cock in his mouth until he'd swallowed every last drop of cum. When it was over, the blonde sat up, grinning hotly, and gave Mayuri a lewd, feverish kiss, making him taste his own cum.

"Now it's my turn," he panted, pulling out his cock, which was slick with precum and hard as steel. He straddled Mayuri's chest and plunged into his mouth with no hesitation. Mayuri groaned and swallowed the entire length with relative ease, eager to return the favor. He grabbed the man's hips with both hands, urging him on until he quickly burst, buried to the hilt as he spilled his seed with an equally loud moan. When he was sated, he flopped down next to Mayuri with a contented sigh.

Silence finally settled upon the room as they lay there peacefully, basking in the afterglow. Kisuke's hand settled atop Mayuri's own, lazily toying with his fingers. If anyone were to walk in on them at that moment, they'd easily mistake the scene as one of mere post coital bliss. Mayuri closed his eyes, wishing that it could be so simple. He tried to relax his mind and push reality a little farther away, focusing on the pleasant warmth of Kisuke's hand and the soft sound of their mingled breathing. Why couldn't it always be like this? Unfortunately, it never had been before and probably never would be again. Despite his efforts to enjoy the moment, he felt crushed between past and future, fucked from both sides. Kisuke had _never_ been kind during or after sex; any 'post coital bliss' had usually been spent either curled in a fetal position or hanging listlessly from chains. No, Kisuke had always been uncaring and cruel to him. The future hurt even more; Mayuri just felt like he was staring into an abyss when he cast his gaze forward. There was more pain ahead, more abuse… and all too soon, death.

"Why did you do that?" he asked quietly, loathe to break the peaceful moment but knowing it was inevitable.

Kisuke's hand clenched briefly. "I told you on that first day, I have a century's worth of fantasizing to enact," he replied stiffly. "I just always wondered what it was like, I don't know." Judging from his terse explanation, he wasn't too comfortable with the topic. 'I don't know' were words that rarely escaped his lips.

"No, I figured that," Mayuri huffed. "I meant… why were you nice to me?" Finding the right words to encompass all the questions spinning in his mind seemed outright impossible but he had to try.

"Damnit Mayuri, I don't know," Kisuke repeated. "I suppose I'm just a sucker for romance. Finally hearing those words from you…" He glanced over at Mayuri then back up at the ceiling. "I'd been waiting a long time to hear them, okay? Even though you're just a fucking puppet on strings now, I still melted a little."

Mayuri sighed with frustration, his head spinning even faster than before. "All you had to do was be nice to me back then," he all but snapped. "I would've said them as much as you want! Believe it or not, I'm really fucking simple when it comes to romance – if you'd just stopped slapping me around and said a few kind words, I'd have been all yours!"

Kisuke let out a dry chuckle. "You're so full of shit," he said. He turned and faced Mayuri again with eyes devoid of mirth. "Now get out of my sight before you _really_ piss me off."

Mayuri had seen those eyes enough times to know what they meant. He ignored the pain as he dragged himself to the edge of the futon and stood up, the hairs at the nape of his neck prickling up with warning. It wasn't until he was all the way over by the door that he dared to turn around and even then, he kept his gaze lowered. "When do you want to see me again?" he meekly asked.

"In the fucking obituary," Kisuke snapped. "But if your pathetic ass is still alive in a week, be here at eight."

Mayuri nodded and shut the door between them. He didn't even dare to let out a sigh of relief until he was all the way back in the Seireitei. The way Kisuke switched from light-hearted to murderous couldn't even be described as a mood swing. No, he was convinced it was a phenomenon that only he alone had ever had the pleasure of bearing witness to. Back when they were 'together', it would happen over the tiniest, most inconsequential thing. Sometimes Mayuri would find himself nursing a fat lip or a bloody nose without the slightest clue as to what he'd done to provoke it. Tonight however, he would've known – and felt all the more stupid for it, too. Consciously or not, Kisuke had been baiting him into saying something too brutally honest. After their heated confessions in the training room, he should've treated the blonde like the ticking time bomb he was and kept his mouth shut!

_That's so fucking unfair,_ he thought crossly as he walked slowly toward the Twelfth, doing his best 'I'm fine, nothing to see here' impression to any passersby who glanced in his direction. _He opens up to me then gets pissed off when I do the same?! What logic is that?!_ He was so flustered by the very concept of this illogical unfairness that he made it all the way to his lab before reality hit him. _This man is slowly and methodically killing me, ensuring I suffer as much as possible, and I'm hung up on whether he's being fair._

It wasn't funny – not even in the slightest – but he laughed hysterically until tears were running down his face and his wound was too painful to fathom.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: I borrowed the comment on Mayuri and his Bankai both being big babies from Quantum Mechanics by Illegitimi, a story that's much better and much less depraved than mine. As for the incongruity of Kisuke's trial, I think it's obvious why I left it as is. Dude needs a motive, right? This story is so far from canon anyway, it doesn't really matter. I also want to get a bit personal and finally explain why I'm writing this story in the first place, other than I like writing depraved smut. I was in a really bad relationship so I'm pawning off a lot of personal feelings onto Kisuke's character. No, my ex didn't cast charm on me nor did he forcibly remove my organs but he was both physically and emotionally abusive. Those last few paragraphs describe something I'm sure anyone who's been in a similar situation could relate to – walking on eggshells! Anyway! I just want you guys to know that I'm not sick in the head so much as venting. Although I guess I'll admit to being just a _little_ sick in the head too, lol.

One last thing, will someone please just leave a review already? I feel like I'm pulling teeth or asking for money but it's just a second of yr time and it will really make my day!


	8. Chapter 8

There was something about rainy weather that healed the soul. Perhaps it was the darkened, overcast sky, making the exact time of day a little more elusive and inconsequential. Maybe it was the instinct it provoked to find a warm, dry place and stay put until it passed. For Mayuri, it was the sound more than anything else… it had a way of drowning out his incessant inner dialogue that no other noise could replicate. There were just so many _layers_ to it; everything the water hit had its own unique sound, forming a soothing, atonal symphony. Even when he was busy, hearing rain would unravel his sense of urgency, loosening up his mind the same way a massage loosened up muscles. In the Maggot's Nest, his cell had been too far underground for him to hear it, so he supposed he appreciated it more than most. Either way, he was pleasantly surprised to wake up to the white noise roar of a downpour. Nestled in Jūshirō's arms, tangled in a comfortable mess of blankets and pillows, he spent an indeterminate amount of time drifting in and out of consciousness while the storm blustered outside. His ordeal with Kisuke was usually a red alert of urgency in his mind – he needed to remember, to think, to act! – but not right now. It was raining. These things could wait.

Even the new memory the night had brought failed to distress him as much as it probably should've. As painful as it had been, it had finally shed some light on the situation; now that he knew Kisuke's motive, he felt a little less like he was groping around in the dark. A pound of flesh for each offending year. He chuckled quietly. Kisuke sure picked the wrong person for such a specific torture! Too bad he hadn't had a grudge against Ōmaeda instead – that man probably would've _benefitted_ from it. All jokes aside, he found himself fantasizing about an appropriate retaliation on his part. If he got the one up on Kisuke and the man was at his mercy, what would he do? Well, there were just so many options to play around with. Perhaps he could flip the 'pound of flesh' on its head and force Kisuke to become grossly and immensely fat. Yes, that was certainly suitable… and feasible. If he could pull off a similar curse that forbade Kisuke to talk about it, everyone would just assume he was succumbing to the temptation of being around confections all day!

On the other hand, that would take time. Mayuri wasn't sure he wanted to wait to see results. Perhaps a sloppy castration under Ashisogi Jizō's paralysis was more fitting, followed by a slow descent, feet first, into sulfuric acid. As he envisioned the gruesome scenario, he squirmed uncomfortably. No, that was simply too sadistic. He already teetered on the brink of complete moral abandonment with his experiments – he knew it wouldn't take much to give him that one last push into straight-up villainy. Well, then… what _was_ the appropriate retaliation? He wished he could just get the fucker arrested – hopefully the compounded sentence would earn him a swift public execution via Sōkyoku – but he absolutely wouldn't be able to bear making his accusations public. Even if he set the bar low and tried to get Kisuke brought in for his preexisting convictions, he'd be stirring up a huge pot of shit. He had a pretty good feeling that the general response would be:

"Oh, his punishment was banishment anyway and he's not hurting anyone. Why do you have such a hair up your ass, Mayuri? Is it because you weren't invited to his party? Just go back to your lab and sulk, you petty piece of shit!"

Well, perhaps that was an exaggeration. Either way, he really didn't care to find out. He sighed, tuning back into the sound of the rain. It was really coming down out there. His internal clock told him it was well past dawn but he was in no hurry to head back to the Twelfth. His obligations weren't so pressing that he needed to get soaked to the bone over them. Plus, he was really enjoying himself at the moment. He'd never just relaxed in someone's arms like this before and was almost embarrassed to admit how nice it felt. His smattering of one-night stands had always been with complete strangers – people he'd met at various gay bars hidden throughout Rukongai – and after the act was done, he was out. He'd never even done this in all his years with Kisuke, as the man was far too homophobic to indulge in displays of affection. Which was fucking stupid. The man's shocking confessions still rung in his ears from the night's memory and he couldn't shake the feeling that their relationship had been one of unrequited love. It sort of explained a lot, even though it didn't justify it. If Kisuke had been in love with him, he would've been furious with the whole situation – furious at himself for falling for a man, with Mayuri for not loving him back – and it would've made his banishment hurt that much more. Mayuri wondered… if he was even correct about this in the first place, when had the feelings started? All the way back in the Maggot's Nest? It was impossible for him to know. Due to his unadulterated loathing for the man, he'd seen little more than a violent, arrogant prick every time he'd looked into those grey eyes. If love had been there, he sure as fuck hadn't seen it. Kisuke had never given him a chance! He hadn't been lying – a few kind words, a heartfelt apology, hell, maybe even some fucking flowers and his heart would've thawed a little. Well, it _probably_ would've. The idea was so absurd, he actually wasn't sure how he would've reacted.

Damnit, the rain wasn't 'healing the soul' very well, was it? Then again, once he got rolling, nothing short of a lobotomy could halt his train of thought. He shouldn't be blaming the rain, as if it was an incompetent therapist rather than mere water falling from the sky. He sighed yet again and shifted in Jūshirō's arms; the man was out cold but luckily, lying on his side negated his snoring. He was a bit surprised the guy will still sleeping so hard. Waking up at the ass crack of dawn was pretty unanimous across the Gotei 13; everyone followed a strict military schedule, their days filled to the brim with duties. Perhaps Jūshirō's illness made him an exception. Who knows… maybe the dolt was just hungover. Mayuri felt great himself; he'd tweaked and tinkered with his body so much that it filtered out bad things with ludicrously high efficiency. With the addition of much-needed sustenance and rest, he felt like he could jump off the cliff in the back yard and hit the ground running.

His brain chattered on and on like some deranged talk show host babbling to an empty guest chair. He wondered if Jūshirō would be up for a round of sparring after the storm passed; it would be a good way to expel some of this exorbitant energy humming around inside him. It would also satiate a fraction of his curiosity, as he'd never even seen the man in combat before, let alone witnessed his Bankai. All he knew was that his Shikai took the form of duel wielded blades, which was rare in and of itself. Even rarer, however, was the duel elemental nature of his Zanpakutō – water and lightning. Perhaps it was a reflection of his duel personality – water was calm, healing, the source of life, whereas lightning was fast, destructive, severe and chaotic. If this was the case, Mayuri definitely liked the 'lightning' side of the coin more. A hot thrill ran through his body as he remembered last night's events. To find that such a stunningly attractive, well-endowed, overly kind man also had a _supremely_ erotic mean streak just seemed too good to be true! It made him a bit nervous; there just had to be a downside somewhere that he wasn't seeing. Right?

He didn't believe for a second that maybe he actually deserved someone who made him happy. No, he was thoroughly convinced that life had slapped a 'kick me' sign on his back right out of the womb. At some point, the rug was going to get pulled out from under his feet and Jūshirō would shun him. 'Sorry, I remembered that you're actually a horrible person,' he'd probably say in his honest, matter-of-fact way. 'I guess I was blinded by the fact that you give good head.'

A flash of lightning, followed closely by a loud clap of thunder, jolted him from his thoughts. Jūshirō grunted behind him and shifted fitfully. "Mmm," the man muttered. "Shut up."

"Did you just tell the sky to shut up?" Mayuri chuckled softly. "I don't think it's going to listen." At least his mind had finally shut up. His chuckle turned into a sigh when Jūshirō's hand slid from its resting place on his hip to lazily grope his stomach, then his chest, finding a nipple and pinching it roughly. He also felt something growing _very_ hard against his ass. He ground against it subtly, his pulse rising.

"No… I was dreaming," Jūshirō replied in a voice still husky with sleep. "Already forgot what it was about." His hand returned to Mayuri's hip and clutched it as he ground back. "Then again, I awoke to quite the distraction," he mused. He leaned in and planted a few kisses on the side of the younger man's neck, eliciting a sharp intake of breath and another lithe movement of his hips. Thinking back on it, Ukitake couldn't remember a single other time when he'd woken up next to someone so immediately and unabashedly eager for sex. Women were typically too sore for it… and as for men? Even self-proclaimed size queens skittishly admitted that he was too much for them. Whether it was natural or augmented, Mayuri's body was able to handle far more _rigor_ than anyone else he'd encountered. He trailed his lips down to the crook of the scientist's neck, where he bit down playfully. Mayuri growled in response then rolled over to face him. A mischievous, lop-sided grin curved his lips and his golden eyes were maniacally bright. They were always bright, Jūshirō noted. It was that brilliant IQ of his, literally shining out of him.

"Just a distraction, am I?" Mayuri teased. "Well then, I suppose I should show you how distracting I can be." He gave Ukitake a quick kiss, just long enough to tease his bottom lip with his teeth, then disappeared beneath the sheets. He worked his way down slowly, licking and nipping Jūshirō's chest, then trailing down his abdomen, until the man was breathing quickly and rocking his hips with anticipation. When he reached his destination, however, he quickened his pace, hungrily swallowing the hard-as-steel length as fast as his throat would allow it. There was something to be said about morning wood… it was just _better_ somehow. Mayuri wasn't about to pull out a measuring tape but he was almost positive it was even bigger than usual, stretching him taut, as if the night had somehow been swelling it. It was most likely a trick of the senses – freshly awake, he was experiencing everything more fully and vividly than he possibly could otherwise. He didn't particularly like being tricked – especially by his own body – but this was an exception.

Another bolt of lightning filled the room with a dazzling flash, briefly illuminating every hot detail of the scene, even under the sheets. Mayuri braced himself for the thunder, which was a jarring, crackling boom less than a second later. The last thing he wanted to do was bite down in reflexive shock. "That was close," he heard Ukitake say, his voice nearly drowned out by the increasingly torrential downpour. "This is one hell of a storm." A wave of cool air then hit Mayuri's face as the sheets were pulled down around him. Jūshirō sat up a little, supporting himself with one elbow, and ran his fingers through the younger man's hair. "That's better," he said. "I like being able to see you." 'Like' was an understatement – he couldn't get over how drop dead gorgeous Mayuri was, especially when he was giving head. There was something utterly _greedy_ about the way he did it, even when he was trying to go slow like last night, that Ukitake found to be sinfully erotic. He'd never met someone who genuinely enjoyed the act as much. Sure, people had made a good show of it before and tried their very best to pleasure him – but Mayuri did it for himself and it showed. More lightning flickered around them, raising gooseflesh, and the thunder practically shook the bed.

Mayuri decided that the storm had become too loud for talking so when he sat up, he let his actions speak for him. He crawled on top of Jūshirō, grabbed his saliva-slick cock and with zero hesitation, guided it into himself. His body felt electrically charged, pulsing with excitement; it hurt fantastically but he relentlessly, ravenously kept going until it was buried to the hilt within him. When he focused his vision, which had fuzzed out from the onslaught of pleasure and pain, he saw Jūshirō gazing up at him, his hair a dazzling, stark white flood around his flushed face. He had no idea why but there was something profound about the moment that made his stomach flutter and his chest feel tight. Swallowing around a sudden lump in his throat, he kept his eyes locked on Ukitake's as slowly, he began to move.

Rain pounded the roof and lightning struck with chaotic frequency, creating an almost strobe-like effect upon the scene. As their motions gained speed, Mayuri could feel an insane, frenetic energy coming off them both, as if the storm was somehow charging them. When Jūshirō ferociously grabbed his hips and began slamming up into him as deep as he could go, he knew he was crying out but he couldn't hear it over the tempest. He arched his back as the pressure mounted, mounted, then finally burst into a long, crippling flood of ecstasy. He felt Jūshirō release into him simultaneously, clutching his hips firmly, pinning him tight until he was drained. Dizzy from the rush of orgasm, he regarded Ukitake with heavy lidded eyes. The lump in his throat was still there, the fluttering in his chest, but it had dulled down to something tolerable. As he lifted himself up and flopped down next to the man, he tried to pinpoint the feeling and cursed himself when he identified it. That's how Kisuke's charm had made him feel! _So does that mean I'm in love?_ He asked himself_. Impossible! At this point, it can't be anything more than infatuation._ Whatever the case, he didn't like it one bit. After all of his hardships, both distant and recent, he should be colder than ice at this point. Unfortunately, Jūshirō was having the opposite effect, making him melt into an utterly unmanageable pile of goo.

The storm was still raging loudly, unaffected by Mayuri's little pocket of emotion swirling around below it, so the two men went about their morning mostly in silence. They showered, got dressed, made coffee. Then they went at it again – on the couch this time – which called for a repeat of steps one and two. They even had time to fuss over the bloody obi that had bound Mayuri's wrists last night, managing to wash most of the stain away until there was just a tiny pink fleck on it. By the time the storm had finally died down, it was close to noon. Mayuri's obligations were pressing urgently at his mind but he still couldn't let go of the idea he'd had earlier.

"Are you up for a round of sparring?" he asked Jūshirō, right as they were leaving the house.

"Uh…" the man fumbled as he locked the front door. "Well, I suppose I could fit it in." He tucked the key into a haori pocket, his eyes narrowed with thought. "No Shikai though…" he laid out. "And _definitely_ no Bankai."

"Well obviously," Mayuri scoffed with a disdainful flick of his wrist. "I want to test your swordsmanship, not _kill_ you."

Ukitake let out a light peal of laughter. "Kill me? And what makes you think you can even lay a _scratch_ on me?" he teased, a glint flashing in his otherwise calm eyes.

Mayuri grinned, baring his teeth. "Oh, was that a challenge?" he purred, smitten. "Be careful, I'm even more frightening than I look."

This elicited an especially loud chuckle from Jūshirō, who grabbed his haori sleeve and pulled him in for a quick kiss. "Sorry, that won't work on me anymore," he said softly. "I know what's under the mask… and it's actually pretty _cute_." He flicked Mayuri's chin piece then whirled around and sauntered down the cobblestone path.

Mayuri's face felt bright red under his paint. _Cute_?! He wanted to start screaming at the man but restrained the urge. If he made a big deal of it, the dreaded word would inevitably come out – _kawaii_ – and then he would _really_ lose his cool. "Indeed, get out all your shit-talking while you can," he finally said, trotting to catch up. "Soon enough, the only words coming out of your mouth will be pleas for mercy."

They walked at a steady clip toward the training ground, baiting each other all the while. Passersby merely thought they were having a pleasant conversation – they were both smiling amicably and their voices were respectful in tone – but their words were a series of jabs and taunts. By the time they reached their destination, their nerves were already sharp with adrenaline. Mayuri wanted to see what made this outwardly passive, unassuming man one of the Gotei 13's most respected Captains… and Jūshirō was dying to find out just how many rumors were true about Captain Kurotsuchi's terrifying prowess on the battlefield.

This particular training ground was a large, flat field with some dummies and targets off to one end. Overhead, the dark, turbulent clouds were beginning to break up, letting in slivers of sunlight here and there that danced over the wet grass. There were quite a few low-ranking Shinigami around, taking advantage of the cool weather to train, but everyone gave the two Captains a respectful berth. Nevertheless, a small crowd began to form in a loose ring around them. It was extremely rare for Captains to spar with each other – it usually had to be coordinated beforehand plus no one had the time – so this was a privilege to witness. Mayuri smirked when he noticed that absolutely no one had gathered directly behind him, making it more of a crescent behind Jūshirō than a full circle; everyone had heard enough about him to keep their distance.

"May the best man win," Jūshirō said politely, unsheathing Sōgyo no Kotowari.

Mayuri laughed, drawing Ashisogi Jizō with a fierce grin. "You wish," he sneered.

In normal, no-holds-barred combat, Mayuri liked to keep his opponents at a comfortable distance, at least until he had them figured out. However, this was a test of swordsmanship so the tactic was immediately scrapped. It didn't mean he couldn't still do some analyzing, though. He tested the waters by using speed, pressing Jūshirō with a series of flash-step attacks. Each attack was countered neatly with a refined parry that betrayed ample skill in Zanjutsu and bitingly quick reflexes. He'd expected this. What he didn't expect was Jūshirō to also be highly proficient at flash-stepping; although he'd started out on the offensive, he soon found himself dodging and parrying just as often. The Shinigami watching them probably weren't able to follow much, seeing little more than a blur of motion as they danced over the field. To Mayuri's chagrin, Jūshirō had also denied them Kido or secondary weapons, leaving them with the barest of skill sets, so his many countermeasures were rendered moot. It wasn't long before his muscles were griping at him, sorely reminding him that he was still recovering from Kisuke's abuse.

Excuses, excuses! He wasn't going to lose! He may have handed himself to Kisuke on a silver platter but it wasn't going to happen again! Time slowed to half speed as his brain kicked into overdrive, releasing the Superhuman Drug into his pounding bloodstream. He supposed the drug was a little fuzzy on the rules of the fight, since it was performance enhancing… but the enhancement was mental only. That and he had no easy way of preventing its use; he would've had to go all the way to his lab and surgically remove it, which neither man had time for. Jūshirō's movements gained a graceful fluidity in the slowed motion, every parry and thrust an eloquent demonstration in the art of combat. Mayuri's muscles went from griping to screaming as he pushed himself to make his body catch up with his mind.

Ukitake's heart was pounding and his head felt light. He could only describe Mayuri's fighting style as ferocious, perhaps even a bit dirty. The man wasn't cheating per say but his move-set was a chaotic jumble. One second he was using a refined thrust of his blade, next he was trying to knock Jūshirō down with a sudden, low sweep of his leg. He was all over the fucking place. Despite its seemingly random nature, however, it was too effective and precise to be unplanned. He was thankful for the open, flat area – he had a feeling Mayuri would use the environment to his advantage, throwing whatever he could find at his opponent in hopes of distracting them. Jūshirō was half-expecting the man to grab a hapless onlooker and use them as a shield. He was having to use every ounce of his skill, both mentally and physically, to hold his ground.

No, holding his ground wasn't good enough! His argument with Shunsui still rang in his ears, the insulting implication that he needed to be watched over and protected from harm. The small crowd of onlookers raised the stakes exponentially; the outcome of this fight would reverberate throughout the entire Seireitei. He had to prove to everyone that his illness didn't make him weak, that he was Captain in more than just name! When his body began warning for him to stop, he ignored the signals and pressed on even harder than before, pushing himself to his very limit to gain the advantage.

The battle reached a swift climax. Mayuri, even with the advantage of time, barely pulled off a frantic parry, followed by a deceptive feint and a leg sweep that finally connected. Jūshirō went tumbling to the ground; that's all the time it took for Mayuri's blade to thrust just a hairs width before his throat. Mayuri barely began to grin with triumph when he noticed the tip of Jūshirō's blade poised at the base of his own throat. He laughed, the grin spreading even wider on his face. "Looks like a draw," he panted. Sweat was pouring down his face and his lungs ached. He relaxed his pose and sheathed Ashisogi Jizō, extremely pleased with the outcome, then offered Jūshirō a hand to help him up. The older man took it gratefully but only made it to his knees.

"Forgive me," he rasped. "I just need to catch my breath." He raised a hand to his mouth and coughed daintily. And then, with absolutely no warning, he threw up about a gallon of blood.

Mayuri heard a collective gasp from the crowd and even a few screams. With the Superhuman Drug still affecting him, it all was happening way too slowly. He wondered, incredulously, if that's what Jūshirō had thrown up in the middle of the night. This was absurd! If the man was this sick, he should've just said so! Before Jūshirō had even finished vomiting, he'd already planned a course of action. He scanned the horrified crowd and picked out two tall, stout men. His paralyzing eyes were enough to gain their attention and when he motioned for them to come forward, they obeyed.

"Help me carry him to my lab," he snarled at them.

"Mayuri, I'm-" Jūshirō gurgled.

"If you say you're fine, I swear I'll _sedate_ you," Mayuri seethed. Then, more softly, "Just try not to talk." He then glared back up at the uncertain Shinigami. "Did I fucking stutter?" he snapped. "Pick him up! Refusal of a Captain's order is treason!" With the proper fire under their ass, they moved quickly, each taking an arm and lifting him to his feet. Jūshirō moaned in response and his head slumped forward, blood trickling down his chin. "And you useless fools need to bring us a cot," Mayuri shouted at the remaining crowd. "If we reach the lab before we get it, you're all as good as dead!" With that said, he grabbed Jūshirō's feet and promptly began carrying him in the direction of the Twelfth. He'd canned the idea of going to the Fourth as soon as it had popped into his head. It was twice as far away as his own Division, plus he really didn't want to deal with Unohana.

They'd made it about halfway there when Mayuri heard approaching footsteps. _That had better be my cot, _he thought crossly, turning his head to the source of the noise. Upon seeing who it was, his blood immediately went from a simmer to a boil. Fucking Kyōraku. Why did it have to be Kyōraku?! He had Nanao with him and about ten squad members, implying that whatever he was doing, he meant business. "Unless you have a cot, your assistance isn't needed," Mayuri snarled, baring his teeth.

"That's far enough, Kurotsuchi," Shunsui said in a low yet resounding voice. His hand was resting lightly on the hilt of his Zanpakutō.

Mayuri felt like he was going to explode. "What the fuck are you talking about?!" he all but screamed. "Can't you see he's hurt?!"

"Yes, I can," Shunsui growled. "And it's also come to my attention that _you_ were the cause of it." He gestured at the squad members behind him and Mayuri finally noticed that they'd all been present for the sparring round. The faces that met his gaze were a combination of indignant and fearful; most of them immediately looked at the ground.

"If those fools told you even an iota of truth, you'd know that we were merely sparring," Mayuri hissed. "And furthermore, I – _we_ – don't have time for this! Can't this wait?" Jūshirō had fallen unconscious right at the start of their journey and his face was almost as white as his hair.

"Yes, this will wait until he's safely within the Fourth Division, not in the stinking bowels of your lab," Shunsui replied lightly. He turned to Nanao and smiled politely. "My sweet Nanao, would you please gather a few men and retrieve Captain Ukitake for me?" he asked.

"I'm not your sweet Nanao," she huffed, her face turning red. Nonetheless, she came forward with two men and a cot. Meeting the hysterical, slack-jawed expression on Mayuri's face with a prim smile, she bowed with courtesy so fake, it made him want to slap her head right off her neck. "Captain Kurotsuchi, if you'd kindly step aside, we'll take this from here," she chirped, somehow sounding even more condescending than her Captain.

Mayuri was having a hard time believing that any of this was even happening. Why was he being blamed for this? He was well aware of his bad reputation but he'd never seen it manifest in such an utterly absurd and illogical manner! For crying out loud, a life was at stake here! Hands shaking with rage, he silently relinquished Ukitake, knowing the situation was completely out of his control. What the fuck was he going to do? Start a fight? Kyōraku's eyes were on him like a hawk, as if the man actually expected him to start something. When Ukitake was safely on the cot, he crossed his arms and glared murderously at the lot of them. "If anything happens to him, I'll-"

"Something already happened to him, thanks to you," Shunsui snapped. "You'd better pray he makes a full recovery or else I'll make sure you go back to the Maggot's Nest." With that said, he turned and strode away, his squad obediently following suit.

Mayuri was so furious, he'd forgotten all about the two Shinigami who'd helped him carry Ukitake this far. They seemed to be completely paralyzed by fear, their heads bowed and their shoulders hunched. "Out of my sight," he grated, his fingernails digging into his arms. "NOW." When they were gone, which took all of two seconds, he screamed an ungodly, loud curse and unleashed his pent-up reiatsu. The ground cracked under his feet and he heard glass shatter somewhere. Even the solid stone walls lining the street creaked miserably, a few hairline fractures spreading over their otherwise unblemished surfaces. If some spiritually weak, unlucky fool happened to be within a hundred feet of him, they'd be physically knocked back by the pressure and likely rendered unconscious. He didn't care. He wanted to fucking murder someone, _anyone_, although Kyōraku would be preferable. Right then, the retribution that he'd deemed too gruesome for Kisuke – the one involving sulfuric acid – didn't seem nearly gruesome enough for that flowery, drunken sack of shit.

For a while, he didn't even know what to do with himself. He was _insanely_ angry, to the point where he couldn't see or think straight. He paced around the empty street like a complete lunatic, muttering and screaming incoherently, his reiatsu howling around him. It wasn't until his body finally ran out of adrenaline that he slowly began to collect himself. Little pieces of logic began forming in his head and fitting together. _This will all get sorted out when Ukitake wakes up,_ he told himself. _All I have to do stay calm._ Over and over, he repeated it like a mantra in his mind. _Just stay calm. This will all get sorted out. _ His reiatsu swirled around moodily then vanished from the air as he reined it back in. Yes, just stay calm. This meant _not_ charging over to the Fourth demanding to see Ukitake. And _certainly_ not charging over to the Eighth with murder on his mind. He looked down at himself and scowled; his outfit was splattered with Jūshirō's blood. The only smart thing to do was go back to the Twelfth, wash up and wait. First, however…

He fished around in a haori pocket and pulled out a small glass vial. Most of the blood had dried but there was a particularly large splotch clinging to his hakama that was still wet. With patience and precision, he scraped the lip of the vial against the fabric until a thick, partially coagulated drop of blood oozed inside. While it wasn't the freshest specimen, he'd be able to squeeze out the information he needed. He smirked as he capped it and tucked it away, his mood lifting somewhat from the tiny victory. He'd had the idea to collect a sample this morning but had simply forgotten to ask. Between fucking and fighting, he'd been plenty distracted… plus, he doubted it was very _appealing_ to find your lover pulling out a syringe with a deranged look on his face. Or to find out that said lover carried vials and syringes around with him in the first place. Well, you never knew when they might come in handy! The world was full of interesting things that simply begged to be analyzed.

While he didn't exactly walk back to the Twelfth with a spring in his step, his stride was confident and full of purpose. Let Kyōraku talk his shit; it would just make him sound like even more of an idiot when Ukitake woke up and set the record straight. As for the Fourth? Those fools had been treating Ukitake's illness all this time and he was still that fucking sick? What were they giving him, herbal tea and a pat on the back? Whatever it was, Mayuri was going to put it to a stop, once and for all! If Ukitake needed lungs, he'd simply grow him a new pair – he had all the information he needed for such a feat right inside that vial! His gigai and gikon technology wasn't exactly a secret; after all, he'd created an entire person with it, aka Nemu. Unfortunately, the Seireitei was woefully old-fashioned in many ways. While temporarily slipping into a gigai was common enough, replacing one's own body part with something artificial held a certain taboo. Either that or no one wanted to ask Mayuri for a favor, even if their life was on the line. It was probably a combination of the two.

Growing a pair of lungs was only a fraction of the battle, though. If Ukitake had a respiratory illness, it would just attack the new lungs at some point. Mayuri would have to study the illness and find a way to cure it. That was probably going to be a massive pain in the ass – after all, if it was easy to cure, the man wouldn't be in this fix. Last but certainly not least, there was the whole matter of Mimihagi. Knowledge about the Soul King was surprisingly sparse and cryptic; apparently it was hard to quantify something that was divine in nature. Common sense told him that if Ukitake was cured, Mimihagi would deem its task to be complete and return to its master. That sounded incredibly optimistic though… if Mayuri had learned anything in life, it was that nothing was ever as simple as it seemed.

Once he reached the Twelfth, he made a beeline for his lab, ignoring the questioning glances he earned on the way – he was covered in blood, after all – and slamming the door behind him the second he was in. All of his responsibilities suddenly seemed insignificant compared to the task at hand. He wanted this illness gone, the sooner the better! As he pulled the vial from his pocket and held it up, he grinned maniacally. Yes, he couldn't wait to see the embarrassed expressions on everyone's face – especially Kyōraku's – when their beloved Captain Ukitake emerged from this very lab with a clean bill of health! 'Oh, we're so sorry, Captain Kurotsuchi,' they'd say. 'We're all such insufferable fools, we were blind to the limitless miracles of your genius!'

A very appealing prospect, indeed. Even more appealing, however, was the prospect of never having another scare like that again. He knew the dolt wasn't going to die today or anything – he'd been hacking up blood for centuries like it was no big deal – but Mayuri had still felt a twinge of panic. Whether it was infatuation or something more, he was emotionally invested in the man, enough so that the idea of suddenly losing him was, quite frankly… _terrifying_. No, that just wasn't going to happen. He wouldn't allow it!

As he dove into his work, he only thought about Kisuke briefly before shooing the concern away. He would deal with one problem at a time.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thank you so much for the review! It made my day to know that someone's giving this story more than just a glance! That being said, I'm pretty happy with this chapter even though it's fairly short. Fight scenes are the bane of my existence; I really want to improve on them. And I just gotta say, the idea of Mayuri doing any good deed with a sinister mindset is fucking hilarious to me. Like... him doing Ukitake's laundry or something while laughing maniacally. Anyway, hope you all are staying safe and sane out there. I'm achieving the former, I dunno about the latter though.


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